Made for Each Other
by GabyKurt GarBreefield
Summary: Kurt Hummel and Noah Puckerman have never been the best of friends, but one day, a fateful incident makes them see each other in a totally different light. An unlikely chain of events ensues, changing both of their lives altogether...
1. Chapter 1

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**I WAS BROUGHT UP AND TAUGHT TO SPEAK AND WRITE IN BRITISH ENGLISH, SO EVEN THOUGH **_**GLEE**_** IS AMERICAN, YOU WILL FIND THAT THE Z'S ARE OFTEN REPLACED BY S'S AS IN "STABILISE" ETC, AND THERE IS A U NEXT TO AN O IN SOME WORDS, LIKE "HUMOUR". IF THIS IRKS YOU, PLEASE, EITHER DO NOT READ OR JUST IGNORE THE BRITISH SPELLING FOR THE SAKE OF ENJOYING THE STORY.**

**IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY OR SIMPLY DO NOT APPROVE OF GAY ROMANCE, I SUGGEST YOU FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO READ, YOU HOMOPHOBE.**

**IF YOU ARE A BIG FAN OF PUCKURT/PURT/PUMMEL, THEN THIS IS FOR YOU.**

**Kurt Hummel and Noah Puckerman have never been the best of friends, but one day, a fateful incident makes them see each other in a totally different light. An unlikely chain of events ensues, changing their lives altogether. Could this be love? Read on…**

**Chapter One: Return to McKinley High**

**Kurt takes a short break from Dalton Academy to visit his old school, and is astonished to learn that several changes have occurred in his absence. There will be slight hints of Kurtofsky in this chapter, but believe me, this entire story is all about Kurt and Puck.**

August in Lima, Ohio was and had always been sunny and bright. It was a time for everyone to go outdoors as frequent as possible and enjoy the last of summer. It was also a year since Kurt Hummel had left William McKinley High School for Dalton Academy. He loved it there, no doubt, but of late, an uncanny instinct had been prodding him to apply for sick leave from Dalton Academy just so he could spend a whole day with his fellow former glee clubbers.

Now he was back, walking down the familiar hallways of his old school. He was aware that little had changed in his absence, but still, he felt his mind eagerly absorbing every minute detail like a sponge. The grey lockers with their combination numbers, the red and white polyester uniforms that the cheerleaders sported as well as the bulky Letterman jackets the athletes donned were almost alien to him. Just then, Kurt was instantly reminded of how different McKinley High was from Dalton Academy. In McKinley High, the hallways were like a battlefield in a war-torn country strewn with land mines, waiting to explode, maim and murder. There were very few places in the school one can call safe. You had to be watchful every split second, lest you be made a subject of mockery and humiliation. Yes, bullies lurked everywhere in McKinley High, searching for potential victims. Kurt flinched at his own memories of being victimised, but fortunately on that day, they did not resurface. He heaved a sigh of relief.

He was already in the choir room. A tear fell from his eye at the sight of his favourite haunt as he caressed the black Steinway piano. He was about to make for one of the seats he used to occupy when a voice calling out his name ringed in his ears.

"Kurt?"

Turning around, Kurt saw the massive frame of Karofsky's form approaching him, and his blood froze.

"What are you doing here? How did you know I'm here?" he asked defensively, trying to use his most imperious voice. He had not forgotten the suffering he had to endure in the hands of this jock all those years before. He took a step backwards, not wanting to be anywhere near to this Neanderthal of a bully. He hated this boy so much, and it was hatred that made him use his imperious, defensive voice again.

"Please get out! You're not welcome here," he hissed coldly, but there was something about Karofsky's face that almost made him want to take his words back. In fact, let it be said, Karofsky's face had lost all traces of its old menacing cruelty that always spelt trouble, but contempt propelled Kurt to take another step backwards. Karofsky looked bewildered and slightly hurt. He did not blame Kurt for being hostile towards him. After all, Kurt had been away for so long, and he was therefore oblivious to the changes in McKinley High. Yet still, it had hurt when Kurt shunned him like a sort of deadly contagious plague, and he knew why. It was _he_, along with the other bullies, who made Kurt's life at McKinley High a living Hell. It was because of _him_ that Kurt had to leave. It was _he_ who ruined Kurt's high school life. _Nobody wishes for that, but that's what I gave to so many people_, Karofsky thought bitterly at his own ruthlessness. Now, it was his responsibility to set everything right.

"Kurt, it's okay," he found himself saying, "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not…who I used to be," his voice faltered when he finished. Upon hearing this, Kurt laughed a thin, jeering, mirthless laugh at him. He did not hesitate to hide his scorn either. Karofsky's eyes began to blur.

"Oh, really?" he asked, the disbelief thick and clear in his voice. Then, his eyes narrowed into a haughty sneer. "Is this a lame joke you're trying to pull on me? If it is, I'm not buying it. Now you listen to me, Chubby. I can take your stupid slushies, your barbaric homophobic taunts, your oafish shoving and your childish tripping. Hell, I can even take your slobbery kiss and your absurd death threats, but not this! Enough is enough! As of now, you are so disgusting to the point of being beyond reproach. Did you hear me? YOU MAKE ME SICK!"

Kurt's heart was filled with a perverse satisfaction. He had had his say. He had spat out his choicest venom on this much-despised boy, and it exposed all the times he was made a hapless victim. He was barely inches away from Karofsky's face when he finished, expecting the jock to blow his own cover and beat him up out of suppressed rage, but all he saw were tears flowing down the jock's face. Kurt was suddenly at a loss for words. He may be armed with a mental dictionary full of witty remarks and bitchy repartees for all kinds of degrading situations, but nothing had prepared him for this, nor had anything prepared him for what was to happen next. Had he gone too far?

In one swift moment, a shaking Karofsky dragged Kurt into a tight hug, whispering "I'm so sorry, please forgive me" in between fits of tortured sobs. Kurt felt the jock's tears wetting his expensive Alexander McQueen shirt, and judging from the way Karofsky was weeping, he had a sense that Karofsky had meant what he said. He was tempted to rub the bigger boy's back tenderly and comfort him, but a part of him remained sceptical.

"Are you alright? Do you need something to drink?" he eventually asked, out of genuine concern. Karofsky loosened his hug and looked at Kurt. He was neither defensive nor dismissive anymore, but Karofsky could see that Kurt was still maintaining an air of extreme caution. Wiping his tears away, Karofsky forced a smile, but despite his best efforts, he still looked sad.

"I…I'm good. It's nice to see you again, Kurt," he replied, trying to sound cheerful.

"On, um, thanks," were all that Kurt could manage to say. Now, it was his turn to be confused. The Karofsky he once knew would have been gung-ho about ruining even a simple visit like this, turning it into a nightmare, but standing before him was a completely different Karofsky, a Karofsky without a single hint of any bad intentions in his eyes. The Karofsky he once knew possessed an energy fuelled by a pernicious longing to cause harm, but the Karofsky standing before him now looked lifeless, as though he was thirsting for something to rejuvenate himself, and clearly, the desire to hurt was not the answer. Kurt instantly felt pity for him. Karofsky deserved to be heard out, no matter how rotten his misdeeds were.

"What are you sorry for?" he finally asked. Karofsky's eyes met his, and Kurt saw true remorse and deep sorrow in them.

"So many things," Karofsky choked, "I wish Time is a clock, so I can reverse it back to all the times I have hurt you, for me to make them right, and for me to be your friend. It's killing me because I know I can't undo anything, especially the worst parts. I've been such a cunt to you, Kurt. I know you loath me for all the pain and fear I've caused you, and I understand if you choose never to forgive me. I deserve to carry this guilt, more than Azimio or anybody else, because I stayed bad when I knew I had a chance to be good…!"

"You called me Kurt," Kurt whispered in amazement, cutting the bigger boy short.

"I did. Why?" Karofsky asked, dazed.

"You've always called me Hummel," he replied.

"That's because I want to start seeing you as my friend. When you were just Hummel, you were merely someone for me pick on, and I'm really ashamed of myself for being so immature back then. Trust me, Kurt. I'm not setting out to hurt you again. I just want us to start over, as friends," said Karofsky sincerely.

"That was a pretty long testimony you gave me before I unintentionally stopped you. True, you were the biggest jerk I've ever met, and that's why you were just Karofsky to me," replied Kurt, and Karofsky's face sank. "However, in spite of how much I hated you, I believe you when you said you want us to start over as friends. So, for starters, can I call you Dave?" Kurt finished meekly, and a wide grin formed on Karofsky's lips. Kurt thought he saw new life in his eyes, too.

"It's more than anything I can ever ask from you. So, we're friends, then?"

"Well, yes, we are," said Kurt, and he saw that Dave's face had brightened up considerably. His grin was not one of mischief or malice, but rather it was one of sheer comfort and pure joy, and for that, Kurt was happy, too. They shook hands.

XXX

Shortly after Kurt and Dave's declaration of friendship, they heard a loud shriek coming from the entrance of the choir room. It was Mercedes, Kurt's best friend and fellow diva.

"Kurt, MY BABY!" she screamed at the top of her lungs as she lunged at him to embrace. Kurt jumped from his seat and returned her embrace, overjoyed. Up next was Tina, the soft-spoken Goth girl, who smiled at him warmly before hugging him. After her, came Quinn and Brittany. The two cheerleaders squealed in delight upon seeing him, and they exchanged heartfelt greetings with each other. Then, there was Santana, who offered him a friendly "Hi" before taking a seat. Rachel, the co-captain of New Directions, grinned broadly at him as he greeted her.

"It's such a pleasant surprise!" she exclaimed. Soon, the boys came in. They were just as excited and stunned to see Kurt in the choir room. Artie, Sam and Mike rushed to shake his hand and comment on how long they have not seen him, whereas Puck, though surprised to see him as well, merely nodded his head and raised a hand in greeting. Kurt smiled at him, but he did not respond. Maybe some people have not really changed at all, thought Kurt as he turned to his stepbrother Finn.

"Thanks for keeping this a secret," he whispered to the taller boy's ear, and Finn clasped his shoulder, replying with a "No problem" as he sat next to Quinn. After that, Lauren Zizes came in, and Kurt was shocked.

"Is she in New Directions?" Kurt asked Mercedes and Tina, and they nodded in unison. Kurt was still digesting this new piece of information when Mr. Schuester finally came in. The curly-haired teacher saw him first, and he beamed upon seeing his former student sitting in the choir room, as though he had never left McKinley High at all. He laughed good-heartedly as Kurt hugged him.

"How's my male soprano?" asked a happy Mr. Schuester.

"Never been better," replied Kurt.

"Well, a lot of things have changed since you left," said Mr. Schuester. "First of all, I'd like you to meet two new members of our glee club, Lauren and Dave."

"That's really wonderful. I mean, I just spoke to Dave before everyone else came in, but what made him join New Directions?" asked Kurt. Everyone was silent. Finally, Dave spoke up. He told Kurt how much he was inspired by him to be proud of who he was, no matter what. He told Kurt about the day he was beaten up by his own best friend Azimio for coming out. He was subsequently hospitalised, whereas Azimio was expelled from McKinley High. During his stay at the hospital, the members of New Directions took turns to keep him company, mainly because those who mattered to him never showed up. Dave told Kurt it was only then that he realised what it was like to be a victim, but the most beautiful part of it was that he realised the true meaning of friendship. He admitted that it was initially out of pity that the members of New Directions visited him in hospital, but it was thanks to those visits that he got to know them better and even become friends with virtually all of them. That was how he came to be a part of New Directions. When he finished, he saw tears trickling down Kurt's eyes.

"I'm so proud of you, Dave," he said, and they exchanged hugs.

"I owe it all to you, Kurt," replied Dave. Turning to Mr. Schuester, Kurt asked about Lauren.

"I joined the glee club because Puck invited me in return for rescuing him from that nasty 'Port-a-Potty'," said Lauren, and everybody laughed. Puck squirmed in his seat, but gave everyone his signature smirk nonetheless.

"I'm glad you came to visit, Kurt. It truly is a pleasant surprise. You'll always be a part of New Directions, so remember that you're always welcome to join us anytime," said a beaming Mr. Schuester, and with that, the afterschool bell rang.

Kurt joined the rest of New Directions as they gathered their things to leave. He went out to the parking lot with the girls, receiving from them the latest news from McKinley High that Finn never bothered to tell him, like Miss Pillsbury's lavish Hawaiian vacation with her husband, Dr. Howell the dentist and that Miss Holly Holliday was not allowed to teach in McKinley High anymore due to her wrong methods of delivering sex education. Indeed, so much has changed after he left McKinley High. He expressed his sadness over the fact that Miss Pillsbury was married, leaving Mr. Schuester lonely, and also for Miss Holly Holliday, because she was a wonderful teacher whose noble intentions were cruelly misunderstood. In the end, they all sighed tiredly, finally deciding it was time to split and go home.

As he headed to his car after saying goodbye to the girls, another voice called out to him. This time, it was Puck's, and he did not sound friendly at all.

"Hey, Hummel!" he hollered.

"Yes, Puck?" asked a confused Kurt.

"Why are you here, exactly?" Puck demanded.

"I just missed McKinley High, and I thought of visiting. What's up?" replied Kurt calmly.

"Cut the crap, Hummel," snapped Puck brutally, "You're never the type to skip class. Do you think I'd buy your story? Nationals are just round the corner, and Dalton Academy sent you here to spy on us, isn't that right?"

"Now, you're the one who's talking crap! Why would I ever do that to New Directions? I love our glee club more than anything else; you should know that. I'm sorry I had to leave McKinley High, I'm sorry I can no longer be an official part of New Directions, but even though I'm with the Warblers now, my heart is and always will be with New Directions. If you still don't believe me, why don't you ask Finn? He planned this visit with me," retorted Kurt. He was obviously hurt by Puck's accusation.

"Oh, that's a likely story," said Puck mockingly, and it proved to be the last straw that broke the camel's back for Kurt. Unable to control his fury, he slapped Puck across the face with the back of his hand, hard. Puck winced and staggered a bit from the effect of the slap. When he looked at Kurt, he saw angry tears threatening to fall down the smaller boy's rosy red cheeks.

"How dare you? You, of all people, Puck! Do you really want to know why I'm here, Puck? I'm here because I needed a break! Things haven't been going on smoothly for me, Puck! I just had to get out of Dalton! Everyone thinks I'm happy there because nobody will hurt me there, but it's not true! Do you know how hard it was for me to receive the dean's approval for a sick leave?" Kurt was flushed when he finished. He could not believe that Puck could be so insensitive as to question whether he had ulterior motives behind this well-meant visit.

"Okay, fine, I believe you; that school was meant to kill anyway, but there's something fishy about you coming here all of a sudden," replied Puck. Kurt could not take it anymore. He had to tell the truth, at least to his interrogator with a Mohawk. Why was Puck so infuriating?

"Blaine just left me. He left me for somebody else, Puck. It seems I'm not worthy for him. Every time I see his face, I always think of what would have been for us, and it hurts a lot. There, now you know my secret little anguish. Are you happy now?" he said slowly, as if the very utterance of each word was painful. Puck lowered his head to face the ground. He mentally cursed himself for being so stupid.

"Kurt, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…!"

"Ruin my day, you mean? I came here to cheer up, but you destroyed whatever hope I have left to make this day a happy one for myself. I don't know what's going on in that twisted mind of yours, but thanks a lot. You did a pretty good job," retorted Kurt icily as he hopped into his car. Puck remained frozen in his tracks, aware that he had hurt Kurt in the worst way possible. He would probably never see Kurt again, unless if he was visiting Finn during the weekend, but even then, Kurt would come home only on certain weekends, because he was so contented in Dalton Academy.

Feeling angry, Puck kicked at the tyre of his truck and swore loudly when the pain shot to his head. "Thanks buddy. I needed that," he said to his truck.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**In my personal opinion, this story is definitely worth continuing, but I need the support of you, my darling readers, to keep going…so please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**I'M REALLY SORRY I TOOK SO LONG WITH THIS CHAPTER, BECAUSE I HAD TO REVISE FOR MY FINAL EXAMS. JUST SO YOU KNOW, CHAPTER THREE WILL ALSO TAKE A WHILE, DUE TO PHASE TWO OF FINAL EXAMS.**

**YES, SO KURT AND BLAINE ARE NO LONGER A COUPLE, BUT SERIOUSLY, THAT'S LIKE THE ONLY WAY TO MAKE PUCKURT/PURT/PUMMEL HAPPEN, RIGHT?**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED THE FIRST CHAPTER; YOU GUYS REALLY KEPT ME GOING, AND THAT WAS GREAT! SO HERE'S ANOTHER ONE FOR YOU. ENJOY!**

**THE SONG IN THIS CHAPTER IS **_**SAY THE WORD…I'LL BE THERE **_**BY KYLIE MINOGUE. I DO NOT OWN THIS SONG EITHER, AND NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED AS WELL.**

**Chapter Two: What Are Siblings For**

**Kurt is overwhelmed by the unexpected disaster that spoiled his near-perfect day and plans to go back to Dalton Academy immediately, while Puck, in an attempt to get rid of his guilt, plans to do something wild. They could have been killed. However, fortunately for them, they are stopped by the most unlikely people. **

Kurt stormed into his basement angrily when he reached home. He had been crying throughout the ride home. Burt and Carole were out attending Carole's cousin's silver wedding anniversary somewhere in Akron. They have been gone for about three days, and they were not in when Kurt came home two days ago. According to Finn, they would be back by tonight. Meanwhile, Finn was probably upstairs in his room, trying to achieve a new score in Angry Birds. Not knowing how else to vent out his frustration, he slammed his door hard.

Yes, Kurt was so mad at how things turned out today. He did not want his breakup with Blaine to mar the course of his day out of Dalton Academy, but it happened. Why oh why on Earth did Puck have to ruin this special day? Did he do it deliberately, perhaps as a better alternative to those yucky dumpster tosses? Everything was going fine, until Puck voiced out his suspicions and forced Kurt to spill the beans of the dilemma he had been so eager to elude for just a day. What a prick, thought Kurt as he rummaged for his suitcase under his bed. Going back to Dalton Academy was all he could think of. He was about to fling open his wardrobe to gather his clothes and pack themwhen he heard a knock on his basement door. Tired from just being angry, he got up wearily to answer the door. It was Finn.

"Hey Kurt, I thought I heard something crashing. Are you, um, okay?" he stammered when he saw Kurt's bloodshot eyes.

"I'm fine, really. My basement is a little dusty today, so I figured I got to clean it up a bit, hence the red eyes. I'm allergic to dust, you know," Kurt lied, but Finn saw right through his artifice. After all, didn't he just vacuum his basement this morning? Kurt read the look of disbelief on Finn's face and bit his lip.

"C'mon, something is up, I know. You were pretty hard on your door just now," said Finn, but Kurt refused to budge. "Kurt, I'm your stepbrother. I can tell that you're upset. Care to share?" he asked with a gentle kindness that almost made Kurt cry again. It was true that he used to harbour a schoolboy crush on Finn, but it had been quite a long while since Kurt outgrew his desire for the boy who was now his stepbrother. For the sake of his father's marriage to Carole, he taught himself to view Finn from an altogether different perspective. In the span of an entire year, they have even learnt to start loving each other as brothers, and it was indeed a beautiful lesson learned. Kurt was now overcome with love for his stepbrother, and it was this brotherly love that prompted him to bury his face into Finn's ready arms and actually cry. He never expected Finn to treat him as such, yet he was thankful that Finn was quick to learn the ropes of their new relationship. He could not have asked for a better stepbrother.

"Hey, s' okay, I've got your back," comforted Finn. He was really confused at Kurt's mood swings, although he had somewhat gotten use to it. "What happened? I thought everything went well today. I mean, I kept your secret," assured Finn. It was then that Kurt broke away from his hug, still teary-eyed.

"It wasn't you, Finn," replied Kurt.

"Then, why are you so sad? Are you missing Blaine?" he asked, and a fresh flow of tears cascaded down his stepbrother's flushed cheeks. Kurt did not tell Finn, Burt and Carole about his breakup. He feigned illness two days ago and convinced them that he needed to be home so he can recuperate. Therefore, Finn's innocuous question seemed all the more painful and offensive. It was true that he missed Blaine terribly. They were still on friendly terms, but it hurt him a great deal to see Blaine so much happier with his new boyfriend than he was with him. However, Kurt knew that the breakup was the right thing to do, although it brought countless pain to Blaine as well as himself. Blaine and Kurt were basically in need of someone to provide them with a protective form of love, and they both agreed that the continuance of their relationship could lead to disastrous misunderstandings in the future, because neither boy could provide each other with the kind of love and passion they craved for. Alas, Blaine was the luckier one, for he quickly found someone to fill up the void in his life that Kurt was not even able to enter. The breakup had left Kurt insecure, vulnerable and lonelier than ever. He could not bring himself to envy or hate Blaine, though. The sight of Blaine walking hand in hand with his devilishly handsome new boyfriend did not sicken him either, but Kurt simply needed a change of scenery.

"Did you two have a quarrel or something?" asked Finn, but Kurt shook his head wearily.

"Finn, I seriously don't feel like talking about Blaine tonight," he replied, leaving Finn bewildered.

"C'mon, Kurt, you know you can always tell me anything," he prodded gently, but it was the wrong thing to say. He did not know how much Kurt was suffering, which was why it came as a shock to him when Kurt let out an exasperated groan.

"Gosh, first it's Puck, then you!" snapped Kurt irritably, "If you really must know, Blaine and I broke up, because we weren't made for each other. He has moved on, but I still miss him. I just want to experience at least one day without having to feel empty or heartbroken. Clearly, I made a mistake coming home," Kurt sobbed bitterly as he resumed packing his clothes.

"Kurt, what are you doing?" asked an alarmed Finn. Outside, a roaring thunder blared, signalling a heavy downpour.

"I'm packing my bags, what does it look like to you?"

"Whoa, slow down, Kurt. Where're you heading to? It's almost eight." Finn had to shout at Kurt, because the rains had come, and he feared the storm would drown his voice.

"Back to Dalton, where else?"

"You can't travel like this, not when you're all mad and angry. Besides, it's going to rain. At least wait until Mom and Burt get back. They've been dying to see you after they heard you were sick. You can go back to Dalton first thing tomorrow morning if you want to," coaxed Finn. He had lived with Kurt long enough to know that his stepbrother, although more sensible than he was at most times, had a tendency to act rashly out of uncontrolled emotional outbursts.

Kurt, for his part, considered Finn's suggestion and sat back down on his bed. Finn was right. It was dangerous to travel in anger, especially when the weather at night was bad. Finn, seeing that Kurt had calmed down reasonably well, decided to help him unpack some of his clothes and replace them in his wardrobe.

"Be careful with those, Finn. Those are Marc Jacobs and Alexander McQueen originals, and the black one is by Armani. Please try not to wrinkle them," said Kurt as he sat subdued on his bed. Clearly, Kurt was quite shattered at the way things turned out today because he would never in normal circumstances let anybody even finger the fabric of his beloved shirts, but here he was, allowing Finn, one of the clumsiest people he knew, to actually handle them.

Meanwhile, Finn was trying to figure out what, or who was responsible for Kurt's sudden bout of black temper. Just then, he remembered Kurt mentioning Puck's name.

"Does Puck have anything to do with this?" asked Finn, curious.

"Excuse me?"

"Puck; what did he do? You said his name just now," said Finn.

"Just forget about it, Finn. I'm really too upset to talk now," said a tired Kurt.

"No, I want you to explain to me what did he do or say to bother you this much. I know he used to toss you into the dumpsters and shove you into lockers before he joined the glee club, but even then, you were never hurt by his actions, no matter how embarrassing they were. Now, here you are, crying and angry, because of something he did. I won't let him go if it really was him," said Finn.

"Quit the protective big brother act, will you? It's about high time you realised that although actions speak louder than words, it is words that cause more damage," snapped Kurt.  
>"So, he said something to upset you. Exactly what was that?" demanded Finn.<p>

"It'd be nothing to you, Finn. Just drop it, will you?"

"Look, Puck and I may be best friends even after he knocked up Quinn and almost got into Rachel's pants, but you mean more to me, Kurt. Of course it matters to me. I can't stand to see you being hurt, even if Puck's responsible," said Finn.

"Maybe I overreacted, okay? All he asked was whether Dalton Academy sent me to spy on New Directions, because he knew that Nationals were coming soon, and I wasn't the type to skip class deliberately. I was really hurt and insulted, considering the fact that we were actually getting along quite well since he joined New Directions. I even told him to ask you if he wasn't convinced, but he still wouldn't buy it. I had to defend myself, and all I had was the truth. So I told him. I told him about my breakup, Finn. It was painful to even think of it, let alone bring it up. I was so mad at Puck, I actually hit him," said Kurt tearfully.

"That jerk," cursed Finn, "I feel like punching him in the face now."

"Did I not tell you to just drop it? Besides, I've already punished him," said Kurt as he dried his tears.

"Okay, fine, I leave that to you, but I can't promise I'll be nice to him after what he did," said Finn, and all of a sudden, his stomach let out a soft rumble. Upon hearing it, Kurt stifled a giggle.

"You're hungry," said Kurt, smiling.

"Kind of; I haven't had a thing since lunch hour," confessed Finn, and Kurt shook his head amusedly.

"Let me fix you something to eat. All that crying and ranting is making me hungry, too," said Kurt. When they were in the kitchen, Kurt made him a hearty giant subway sandwich with lots of ham, cheese and mayo. Finn grinned broadly as he dug into his dinner.

"Go slow with that. I don't want you to make headlines as America's first teenager to die instantly of overeating," advised Kurt as he munched on his carrot sticks, dipping them occasionally into a bowl of whipped yoghurt.

"You didn't have to do this for me," said Finn, his mouth still busy chewing a chunk of sandwich.

"Please don't talk with your mouth full, and yes, I was obliged to make you your favourite sandwich. Consider it as my way of saying thank you, and sorry," said Kurt.

\ "For what?" asked a puzzled Finn.

"Thank you, first of all, for knocking some sense into my head just now; if I had just driven out in a rage to Dalton in the heavy rain, something bad could've happened. I could've crashed my car. Besides, I'm sorry if I was too harsh with you just now. You saved me from doing something stupid today, Finn. I owe you my life," said a grateful Kurt.

"Chill, man; it's no big deal. That's what brothers are for. I'm your brother now, it's my duty to look out for you," replied Finn, and Kurt smiled.

"As overprotective as that sounds, I'm really touched. Who would've known Finn Hudson can be such a wonderful brother?" said Kurt, and they both laughed as they resumed eating their dinner.

XXX

It was already six-thirty when Puck returned to find his house empty. His mother must have gone out for her night shift. Deep down in his heart, he pitied his mother for working such odd hours. It was the only job she could find at the moment. As much as he hated her constant nagging on him to study hard and obtain a degree, Puck actually valued each time she offered him that particular piece of advice. Suddenly feeling hungry, he entered the kitchen to find a message on the dining table. It read:

_Noah,_

_ I've gone to work. Your dinner's in the microwave, along with Sarah's. Please heat it up if it's too cold already. See to it that Sarah finishes her food, and please keep an eye on her. I'll be back by eleven. Tell Sarah not to stay up and wait for me, because she has school tomorrow. Take care._

_ Love,_

_ Mom_

Puck opened the microwave and saw that there was only one plate left inside. He turned to the sink and found a dirty plate. Sarah had had her dinner. Not only that, she had taken a chunk out of his own dinner as well. Poor girl, she's growing up so fast, thought Puck with a chuckle as he sat down to eat. She must probably be upstairs now, doing her homework. Unlike Puck, Sarah was a studious girl. She may not be bright, but she made up for it with her unusual diligence. Puck himself was extremely proud of her when she emerged first in her class last year. _At least mom didn't have to raise two bums. Thank God for Sarah_, thought Puck sadly. If he was not the one to succeed in life and make his mother proud, then Sarah would.

When he had finished his dinner and washed the dishes, Puck decided to play his guitar. He had no intention of studying. He was aware that his homework was piling each day, but he was just too lazy to even open his exercise books. He knew very well that even his own mother had stopped worrying about his future. Many a time he had felt singled out when he realised his mother had started to pin her hopes on Sarah, but he kept his peace. He was sick of the petty arguments he and his mother would get into whenever she started nagging. However, he had often longed to prove to his mother that he did not have to be brilliant at school to make her proud. He had his music, and with some luck, he could probably make it big one day, as a singer, guitarist, or both. Furthermore, he was good at videogames, and he had dreamed of participating in one of those rare nationwide championships and come home with a huge bonanza enough to keep his family of three happy for years, or maybe he could come up with a new game. That would be so cool, especially when the money comes in. He would be rich like Bill Gates. Additionally, he was good at football, and if he trained hard enough, he could join an all-stars' league. Then, he thought of what would happen if his luck happened to run out. What could he fall back onto? The world out there was pretty ruthless, especially to someone who knew little of its conniving ways. It was then that he realised he _needed _a good education. A Bachelors Degree, at the very least, but how and where was he to start? He had been limping his way through his grades throughout most of his school life. Even though those with the hardest of hearts have never called him stupid before, Puck began to think that he _could_ be stupid. If he was smart, he would not have found virtually every class in school dreadfully boring. He would have been dedicated to his homework, like Sarah. He had sought help from some of his fellow glee clubbers on his homework. Artie in particular was a great help, yet he cannot depend on Artie alone. In a worst case scenario, he would most probably turn to Kurt no matter how bitchy and defensive the male diva was, because Puck had to admit that Kurt was in fact an academically good role model. Then, he remembered that Kurt was no longer at McKinley High. Most of all, he remembered all the times he had bullied Kurt; the dumpster dives, the locker-shoving and the hallway-tripping, but even those combined together could not match up to what he just did to the other boy. Kurt came to visit McKinley High because he needed some time to heal his own wounds, but Puck mistook him to be a spy for the Warblers. Puck knew he should have known better than to accuse Kurt as such, not only because Kurt was now his best friend's stepbrother, but rather because Puck understood the need to retreat from pain all too well. How could he have been so insensitive? He felt disgusted by his own actions, but he did not know how to make it up to Kurt. As the thoughts wafted in and out of his mind, Puck strummed a melancholic tune on his guitar, but he soon got bored. A heavy drowsiness began to loom over him, and he dozed off on the couch.

It was ten when Puck awoke with a start. His cell was ringing. Outside, he could hear water dripping from the roof, indicating that it had just stopped raining. He was still slouching on the couch when he activated his keypad to answer whoever was calling him. It was Finn.

"Yeah?" greeted Puck casually.

"Screw you, Puck," hissed Finn over the phone.

"Beg pardon?"

"I said 'screw you', you asshole."

"If this is about Kurt, I'm really sorry, dude. I told him I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, yeah, like you didn't mean to get Quinn all knocked up, too," said Finn with a sneer, and it caused Puck a great deal of hurt.

"Why are you even bringing that up? We're cool about that, remember?"

"That's not the point, Puck. You seem to be really good at hurting people."

"That's not true. Where's Kurt? I need to sort this out with him."

"Forget it, Puck. I doubt he'll ever speak to you again. Besides, he's had enough worry on his mind now. I think you should leave him alone."

"Look, can you just tell him I called to say I'm sorry?"

"No, I can't do that, Puck. What you did is unforgivable. You're a fucking dick, you know that?" said Finn coldly as he hung up.

Puck allowed the silence to engulf him. He had made the mistake of misjudging Kurt, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He just had his hard-regained friendship with Finn jeopardised again. Hating himself for what he did, he grabbed his keys and proceeded to leave the house, perhaps to Santana's, to quell his overriding sense of guilt. In spite of her razor-edged tongue, she was good at restoring his bruised ego. He knew he was in the wrong, but he did not want to dwell on it. He had unknowingly let his pride govern his senses. A second storm was already brewing outside.

Just as he was about to leave, a loud booming thunder resonated in the air, and with it came a horrified shriek. It was Sarah. She was hugging Puck's waist now, crying softly.

"Noah, I'm scared," she trembled.

"Sarah, go back to bed. Everything will be fine, I promise," assured Puck, but even he was aware that he sounded lame. He just had to get out.

"I can't, Noah. It's creepy up there," sobbed Sarah. She may be top in her class, but she was still a little girl who had yet to overcome her fears. She was hugging him so tightly that Puck could not bear to pull her away from him. Thunder came a second time, and Sarah buried her face into Puck's waist, shaking.

A strange instinct urged Puck to ruffle his sister's soft, brown hair. In normal circumstances, he would have made a laughing stock out of Sarah's irrational fear, but now, as he was comforting his sister, a gush of love coursed through him, and he locked the door back.

"C'mon, let's go upstairs," he whispered soothingly.

"But, Noah, the monsters are there," cowered Sarah.

"I'm here, right? If they ever come to you, I'll make sure I kick them good and proper in the ass," said Puck with unusual gusto. Even he could not believe he had said that.

"You would?" asked Sarah, amazed at her brother's bravery. "You're the best, Noah!" said Sarah as she hugged her brother. A tear slid down Puck's face at his sister's gesture, and he hugged her back before leading her to her room.

As Puck tucked his sister into bed, he gave her an extra blanket to keep her warm. When he was done and about to turn off the bedside lamp, she gripped at his wrist.

"Can you sing me a song, Noah? I'm still scared."

"Anything for you, sweetie," said Puck, addressing her with the nickname his mother used to called him. He was not sure what to sing to her. Just then, a familiar tune resounded in his mind. It was a very old song, one that he heard on the radio only once, but he grew amicably fond of it. He hummed the prelude as he tried to remember the lyrics. They came back to him.

_Ooh, in the dead of night;_

_Adrift on the ocean wide;_

_High on the mountainside;_

_You can count on me._

_If you're deep in the jungle, boy;_

_Caught in a winter storm;_

_Kidnapped by anyone;_

_I'll set you free._

_Say the word; I'll be there;_

_To give you love and care;_

_There's nothing that I wouldn't do for you._

_Say the word; I'll be there;_

_I'll reach you everywhere;_

_Nothing can keep me away from you._

_If you're lost in the wilderness;_

_Can't tell the East from West;_

_Just feeling second-best;_

_I won't let you down._

_When night comes around again;_

_And you're without a friend;_

_I'm yours to the very end;_

_I'll come around._

_Say the word; I'll be there;_

_To give you love and care;_

_There's nothing that I wouldn't do for you._

_Say the word; I'll be there;_

_I'll reach you everywhere;_

_Nothing can keep me away from you._

Sarah was fast asleep when he finished singing. He planted a light peck on her eyelids before he himself dozed off on her bedside, his head cradled in his right arm, resting next to her sleeping form.

When he awoke the next morning, he saw from Sarah's bedroom window that the biggest tree across the street had fallen and blocked the road. In an instant, he remembered last night's storm and heaved a sigh of relief. Had Sarah not come to him for comfort, he would have strutted out of the house to his doom. He bent down to kiss his sister on the forehead, whispering a heartfelt "Thank you" as he went downstairs to fix her breakfast.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**I actually cried when I wrote this chapter, especially the section about Puck. I am glad that I have done Puck's unnamed sister some justice, since she had such limited screen time on the show; I mean, she appeared only once as the scared little girl who freaks out while watching a killing scene from **_**Schindler's List**_**. More importantly, I hope this chapter will touch you just as much as it did me. Keep reviewing, and I'll definitely keep on going. It is, I must say once again, your support, my darling readers that inspires me.**


	3. Chapter 3

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**ONCE AGAIN, I HAVE TO CONVEY A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER. LIKE I SAID, I HAD TO FOCUS ON MY FINAL EXAMS FOR A WHILE. ANYWAY, I'M BACK NOW AND I HOPE I CAN BE MORE CONSISTENT.**

**A GARGANTUAN HEAP OF THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER TWO; I REALLY AM TOUCHED BY YOUR PATIENCE AND DEVOTION TO THIS STORY. HERE'S A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**THIS CHAPTER IS A LITTLE SHORT, BUT I INTENDED TO POST IT ANYWAY, SINCE I'M STILL WORKING ON THE "FATEFUL INCIDENT" I MENTIONED IN THE SYNOPSIS. ENJOY!**

**Chapter Three: Of Loneliness and Cold Shoulders**

**Kurt returns to Dalton Academy, back to loneliness and heartbreak. Meanwhile, Puck gets the cold shoulder from New Directions for what he did to Kurt. **

The drive back to Dalton Academy was largely uneventful, but Kurt was in good spirits. Replete with a delicious breakfast of bran, honey and apple muffins baked by Carole and served with her signature grapefruit jam, he was happy that he had a chance to see his father and stepmother before leaving. Occasionally, he would fiddle his fingers on the tuner of his radio, switching stations whenever they played songs that did not cater to his taste.

When he eventually reached Dalton, he caught sight of Blaine and Danny walking hand in hand as he parked his car. Although he saw them from a distance, the two boys had probably heard the sound of his car engine, for they had turned around out of curiosity to see who was parking. Dalton was after all a small place, and almost everybody's cars were recognisable. Seeing that it was Kurt, they waved at him. Kurt smiled wanly and wiggled his fingers in greeting as he locked his car.

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine and Danny called out as they raced to meet him.

"Hi Blaine, hi Danny," replied Kurt.

"Are you feeling better already?" asked Blaine.

"With the right medication, I guess I'll be right back on track in no time," Kurt lied to him.

"Awesome," said Blaine happily. "We were just talking about you, by the way," he continued as they walked together.

"Me?" asked Kurt, puzzled.

"Yeah, I was wondering if you can help me with my Prose and Poetry homework, since we're both taking Literature. Blaine's in the Science stream, and he's not taking this subject, which means he doesn't know how to tutor me," said Danny.

"Of course, it'd be an honour," said Kurt as they were walking back to their dormitory.

"That's superb, Kurt," said Blaine.

"Yeah, you don't know how much this means to me," added a thankful Danny.

"Tomorrow night will be a good time. I'll not be available tonight, since we're having Warblers practice. Our next class is on Monday, so this means we have ample time to iron out whatever you have trouble comprehending," suggested Kurt, and the two boys beamed at him.

"See, Danny? I told you he'd help," said a smiling Blaine as they reached the end of the main hallway, and with that, they parted ways. Kurt was relieved that he finally had some time to himself. As he watched Blaine and Danny talking together, he thought of how much the boy who encouraged and empowered him during his harrowing last days at McKinley High used to love him, until the moment they realised they were in a futile, go-nowhere and, as much as he hated to admit it, ill-fated romance. Kurt unlocked his room door, entered and settled down for a good five minutes before breaking into a fit of sobs.

XXX

Puck strode down the halls of McKinley High with a serene expression on his face. He felt good today. Last night, he had serenaded his sister to sleep in an attempt to allay her fears provoked by the storm, and just now before coming to school, he had fixed breakfast for her. It was just cornflakes in milk, but she downed every morsel with relish, as if it was the best thing she had ever tasted. It was the first time he prepared her a meal, and the smile on her face as well as her "Thank You" was firmly etched in his mind.

He was about to enter his English class when someone shoved him into a nearby locker. A jolt of pain throbbed in his body as he regained his footing, and he was enraged. Throughout his high school life, nobody had the guts to shove him into a locker. So far, only Jacob Ben Israel had ordered to have him tossed into a dumpster, but Jacob repaid severely for his short-lived victory. Then, there was Dave. He once had his cronies lock Puck in that horrible Port-a-Potty for even daring to invite the jocks to join New Directions. Yes, Puck was a badass, but joining the glee club had taught him many valuable lessons. For starters, he gave up the dumpster tosses, the locking up in the Port-a-Potty, the Slushy facials, the hallway-tripping and the locker-shoving. However, he was still a delinquent. Not too long ago, he was arrested for ramming his mother's Volvo into an ATM. That was his first time in juvenile prison, and he hated it. He actually vowed never to mess with the law again. People still feared him nonetheless. It had been ages since he had shoved another student into a locker; in fact, he hardly bothered anyone since he was released, even more so after his parole was over. Why would anyone want to shove him?

Puck was quick enough to register who had shoved him. It was Finn. _Oh no, if it's about Kurt again, I'll punch him in the face_, thought Puck angrily. He knew he was wrong, but Finn seriously had to get over it. Even a drama queen like Kurt would have found his role-playing of big brother a bit too extreme. Besides, Kurt was such a blabbermouth. Why can't he just keep quiet about it? Did he have to tell Finn?

Puck was sour throughout his English class. He could not grasp whatever Mrs. Carlisle was teaching, because his mind was too occupied with what Finn had just done to him. Finn was his best friend since he was a little boy. They were so inseparable to the point that every wrong committed by either boy was always forgiven. That was until Puck slept with Quinn and got her pregnant. Puck was ashamed of himself, but he was all the more devastated when he saw how much he had betrayed Finn. It was never in his best intentions to impregnate Quinn; all he wanted to do was prove to Quinn that she was not as elusive as she claimed, referring to her being President of the Celibacy Club and girlfriend of the school football team's captain. He never knew that his cocky arrogance was capable of dissolving a friendship he had forged in his childhood years. Thanks to him, the unthinkable became thinkable.

It took him a long time to sort out the mess he had wrought. When Rachel was dumped by Jesse, he saw an opportunity to rekindle his friendship with Finn when the boys of New Directions attempted to sabotage their rival, Vocal Adrenaline. In this context, things brightened up a little when they both took the same part-time job as a means of compensating the cost of damage they inflicted on their rival's property. Then, they had actually collaborated to sing a song for Quinn and his then-unborn daughter Beth. Their friendship had nearly recovered since then, but it was Puck who ruined the ripening fruit of his efforts. Standing alone in the gents', he rapped his forehead in frustration. He had no idea that Kurt had become so important to Finn now.

When classes were finally over, it was time for glee club. Puck enjoyed being in glee club, but today he dreaded entering the choir room. He entered anyway. Almost everyone had arrived. Finn was nowhere in sight, though. He immediately grabbed the empty seat next to Santana. He gave her his signature smirk as he sat, but she responded with a murderous glare.

"How's my favourite Latina?" he asked, unaffected by her hostility.

"For someone who has been quite a jerk, you seem pretty easygoing," commented Santana. Puck shot her a confused stare.

"Are you bleeding today?" he asked opaquely, not realising how weird it sounded. Santana smacked him hard on the head.

"Ouch!" he winced. He was accustomed to Santana's bitch modes and tempestuous mood swings, but he had no idea what triggered her prickly disposition today.

"You deserved that, by the way," retorted Santana.

"Okay, what did I do wrong?" he asked, and Santana rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"For starters, Finn's never the type to shove people into lockers. I saw what he did to you, and I asked him why. Seriously, you're such a turnoff right now," said Santana.

"So, this is about Kurt again, is it?" asked Puck.

"You're damn right it is! How could you do that to him, Puck?" snapped Santana.

"What the Hell? How come you're defending him all of a sudden?" asked an exasperated Puck. "You two weren't really best friends," he added.

"As much as I've been a bitch to him in the past, I actually care about him. He's like the prissy gay best friend I used to wish for. Thanks to you, he might never come to McKinley High or visit New Directions again," and with that, she smacked Puck on the head again.

"Quit hitting me, will you? I've got enough guilt to bear for one day, as it is," grumbled Puck, only to receive another smack on the head from the cheerleader. He glared at her furiously, but she seemed the least bit intimidated.

"That's for homing in on _my_ territory. You're sitting on Brittany's chair, you meathead!" snapped Santana. Unable to withstand her violent mood, Puck rose to find himself another seat when he felt something smashing his foot. Artie had deliberately swerved so he could ram his wheelchair into Puck's way and inflict some pain, and he succeeded.

"Fuck," Puck swore. Artie turned around to face him, and his eyes were fixed in a menacing glare. "So, Finn told you, too, it seems," Puck eventually said.

"In fact, he told all of us," said Artie coldly.

"Look, Kurt's a strong guy. I know I've hurt him, but he'll come around. Just wait and see," he shrugged, trying to convince them. It was not working.

"Santana always tells me that only the Neanderthals are stupid enough to hurt somebody like Kurt, because he's not afraid of them, and I always thought that I'm the dumb one because people call me so, but you're the bigger idiot," said Brittany bluntly, staring blankly at Puck. He wondered for a moment where she had picked her wittiness from.

"Seriously, what is wrong with you? We all know you're a badass, but did you have to pick on Kurt? I mean, can't you find somebody your own size, or better yet, someone other than your own friend to hurt?" asked an annoyed Quinn.

"Do you have a problem when others are just happy?" Sam joined in, as if he was helping Quinn to complete her question.

"I thought you had changed, Noah. I thought you've learned your lesson," said a disappointed Rachel.

"If he doesn't come back, we'll never forgive you for this," threatened Mike.

"You're so despicable right now, I actually feel like using you as a tackler in my Taekwondo class," snarled Tina.

"Count me in if you do," said Dave to Tina. "Kurt's our friend. Heck, he never did anything wrong to you, so why this shit?" he added, addressing Puck this time.

Just then, Mercedes stormed into the choir room. There was a burning rage in her eyes as she made for Puck. Finn was doing his best to hold her back.

"Damn you, Mohawk!" she spat. "Nobody hurts my best friend and gets away with it! I'll kill you!"

"Wow, Finn, you're such a fine one to talk," said Puck sarcastically. Finn was busy calming Mercedes down, but he was glaring at Puck all the time.

"Kurt's a nervous wreck because of you," retorted Finn. "I've never seen him so upset before," he added.

"All he wanted was to visit us, and you thought he was up to something. We appreciate your concern for New Directions, but look at what you've done, Puck," sighed Rachel.

"How many times do I have to apologise?" asked a frustrated Puck. He hated being treated like the outcast, but he brought it upon himself. He was about to justify himself when Mr. Schuester entered the choir room with a bewildered look on his face. He was obviously aware that some sort of tension was brewing inside.

"What's going on, guys?" he asked.

"Nothing, Mr. Schue," said Finn, and the curly-haired teacher seemed reassured. Finally, they all settled down, locking daggers with Puck as they did so. Unable to face their wrath, Puck went to sit with Lauren. She was the only one who did not confront him about Kurt.

"It's pretty cold in here," she commented.

"What are you talking about?" asked Puck, and the bespectacled girl rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"Can't you see how everyone's treating you? I can't believe you're that big a fool to actually miss my very simple point," snapped Lauren irritably.

"Please don't tell me you're with them," begged Puck.

"As a matter of fact, I am. I always knew your stupidity will get to you," said Lauren as if she just received some sort of prophetic vision.

"Whatever," Puck conceded.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**I must admit that I had second thoughts before posting this chapter, because of the very poor response I received for chapter 2. However, I do hope that you will all still follow this story because it is still at the stage of rising action, and the best has yet to come. I promise I will try to get to the point as quickly as possible. Nevertheless, I need your sincere opinions on whether this story is worth continuing, though. It is, after all, your support and patience, my darling readers, which keep me going from strength to strength. As such, feel free to send in your reviews.**

"


	4. Chapter 4

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**ONCE AGAIN, A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER; I OWE IT ALL TO MY UPCOMING FINAL EXAMS. **

**SPECIAL THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER THREE; YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! FOR THOSE WHO HAVE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS YET DID NOT REVIEW, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME. I REALLY AM TOUCHED BY YOUR GENUINE INTEREST TOWARDS THIS FANFIC. HERE'S A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**SO, THIS IS WHERE THE "FATEFUL INCIDENT" I MENTIONED IN THE SYNOPSIS OCCURS. **

**DO NOTE THAT SOME OF THE WORDS IN THIS CHAPTER, VERBS AND ADJECTIVES IN PARTICULAR, ARE REPETITVE. I DID NOT RUN OUT OF WORDS OR CREATIVITY, AND I NEVER INTENDED TO BORE YOU EITHER. MY INTENTION OF REPEATING CERTAIN WORDS IN THIS CHAPTER IS ACTUALLY BASED ON A LITERARY DEVICE CALLED "FOREGROUNDING", AND I AM USING IT TO HIGHLIGHT THE MYSTERY LINK BETWEEN PUCK AND KURT.**

**Chapter Four: Nightmares**

**Tired after a stressful day, both Kurt and Puck retire to bed early. However, they both end up dreaming bizarre dreams of each other, leaving them frightened and befuddled when they wake up.**

Warblers practice that night passed in a daze for Kurt. He could hardly concentrate on the songs that Wesley chose, nor could he comprehend some of the more complex dance steps, because he was too busy trying to avoid looking at Blaine and Danny. He spoke little when the other Warblers asked after his health, rubbing at his temples to indicate that they were making him feel claustrophobic. Thinking that he had not fully recovered from his illness, Wesley simply left Kurt on his own, only gently correcting him when the need arose. Kurt thanked him graciously, but left as soon as practice was over. He was tired from pretending to be ill. He retreated to his room for an early night, hoping to get some peace. However, it was not peace that he got that night as he laid in his bed…

It had been a while since Kurt had nightmares. In the days after his breakup with Blaine, he had often cried himself to sleep. Most times, he had dreamless slumbers, but whenever he had dreams, they were usually pleasant ones involving himself and Blaine. In such dreams, they would be singing their favourite love ballads, whispering sweet nothings to each other as they sat to a candlelit dinner, or simply snuggling up against one another in bed to watch their favourite musicals together. It was pleasant dreams like these that tricked Kurt into a peaceful slumber after a fitful dose of crying, only to leave him waking up alone, his bliss crushed by the barren emptiness of his bed. These dreams had made him wish for Blaine to be by his side, or better yet, someone to fill up the void in his life the way Danny had filled Blaine's. He was so lonely. Sometimes, because of the empty promises those dreams made, Kurt would start his day in a foul mood and avoid looking at his friends in the eye. Nobody knew that Kurt and Blaine had broken up. In fact, during the short course of their romance, everyone in Dalton thought that they were merely best friends. They were convinced that Blaine and Kurt were dating other boys who just so happened to be studying outside Dalton, much to both of their relief.

That night, Kurt dreamt of a city in ruins. He was standing among the charred remains of a shelled building. A lady in black was wandering about the ruins, carrying her dead daughter's battered corpse and wailing loudly. Kurt was appalled. Where was he? Then, there was a great explosion and he jumped in terror. A whole family ran scurrying out from the source of the explosion. Among them, a boy was screaming in pain as he clutched his bloodied mutilated arm with his hand.

"Somebody help! There's been a blast, and he's wounded!" Kurt yelled, pointing at the boy as he tried to grab the attention of someone fleeing something, only to be ignored.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice calling out to someone. He recognised it instantly. He turned around to find Puck emerging from another side of the ruins, his face blackened with soot and his eyes bloodshot and weary. He was surprised to see Puck with a head full of hair, but it was matted and unruly. Nevertheless, he was glad to have finally found a familiar face.

Puck's eyes met his, and relief flooded into the Jewish boy's face. Kurt was confused. Why was Puck looking at him like that? Furthermore, he was speaking in a language he did not understand. It was definitely not French, the only foreign language he understood so far.

"Karl," Puck whispered hoarsely. Kurt knew nobody by that name, but his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the yellow star pinned onto Puck's hideously outdated jacket. He had seen the star somewhere before, but he could not remember where. However, he could sense that something was horribly wrong. From a distance, Kurt saw a tattered flag with a white circle in the middle that bore a familiar black symbol, and he shuddered in fear. It was then that he realised he was in Nazi Germany. He remembered seeing the black swastika in his History textbook. How did he end up here? More importantly, what was Puck doing here?

At the moment, all Kurt could think of was to save himself and Puck. Puck was Jewish, and if he were to be in this part of the world during this period in history, he could lose his life any time. He saw tears welling up in Puck's eyes as he clasped Kurt's hands and brought them to his face. Kurt did not know how to respond. What was going on? All he knew was that he wanted to get out of this terrible place, fast.

Just then, he heard another voice echoing among the ruins. It was gruff and imperious, and Kurt knew whoever owned that voice spelt trouble. Puck flinched upon hearing the voice and sprinted, dragging Kurt by the wrist. An instinct told Kurt to just follow Puck.

They ran past maimed victims and starving children. Kurt had a million questions to ask Puck, but decided against it when he remembered that he had spoken to him in German and probably would not know any English. However, their escape proved useless when they were cornered by a horde of men in dirty green uniforms. All of their faces were grim and evil. Puck froze in his tracks like a deer stunned by flashing headlights. Kurt saw real fear in his eyes.

One of the soldiers grabbed Puck by the arm and forced him to his knees. Kurt's insides churned as he thought of what the soldiers would do to Puck. Tears were streaming down his face when another soldier attempted to shield him from Puck. He heard Puck howl in pain when one of the soldiers booted him in the guts. His howls turned to yelps when the beatings continued.

"Stop it, you're hurting him!" Kurt found himself begging, but they paid him no attention. The soldiers snickered in amusement when Puck laid curled up on the ground in a bloody heap, writhing in agony.

Kurt's blood froze when he heard a pistol being loaded. One of the soldiers gave something of an order, and he knew what it meant. They were going to kill Puck.

He could hear Puck being dragged to his knees again. Puck was calling out "Karl" over and over again. A chill crept up Kurt's spine when the pistol was fired, silencing Puck for good, and he let out a bloodcurdling scream. His tears burned in his eyes, but he was dumbstruck from the shock.

The soldiers were congratulating each other on a job well done as they deserted the place. Kurt waited for them to dispel, then turned around. He felt his legs go weak when he saw the hole in Puck's forehead oozing with blood and his lifeless open eyes staring into the sky. His mouth was wide open, too. The blood from the wound in his forehead had culminated into a crimson pool on the ground. It was a grotesque sight.

Kurt was kneeling beside Puck's mangled corpse, weeping copiously. As much as he hated Puck for picking on him all those years in McKinley High, Kurt had never imagined himself murdering Puck, let alone watching him get killed. A heavy numbness began to cloud his senses, and Kurt felt himself passing out.

He awoke in a cold sweat. The room was stifling hot, and he needed to take a bath. Vivid images of his nightmare flashed in his mind, and even after he had stepped out from the shower feeling refreshed, he could no longer sleep.

XXX

Puck glutted on his dinner that night. He was just so hungry for a warm meal after a bad day at school. Sarah had, as usual, eaten her dinner early and had gone upstairs either to finish her homework or study.

When he had finished eating, he cleaned up the kitchen and went upstairs. He did not hear his cell vibrating since he was charging it, but it was blinking, indicating that he had received a message. In fact, he received not only one message, but eleven messages, one from each fellow glee clubber. Most of them were brief and acidic, except for Mercedes'. In her message, she had threatened to castrate him and shove his balls down his throat if he dared to show up for class the next day. She even made a list of ways of _how _to castrate him and the pleasure she would obtain from doing so. Puck's face scrunched in disgust when he glanced through her message. He never thought Mercedes was the sadistic type, but then again, he had messed with her best friend, and protectiveness does make one resort to certain strange things. Instead of replying to the eleven messages, Puck took the easy way out. He deleted each and every one of them. He had had enough confrontation for one day. If only there was a way for him to rectify the situation and turn everything back to normal, then he would be immensely relieved. He simply had no idea how to make it up to Kurt. He was so tired today. It was hot and stuffy in his room, and all Puck wanted to do was take a break. He took off his T-shirt and sunk into his bed, slowly drifting into a heavy sleep.

Puck was used to having nightmares. In fact, he was immune to the fear they imposed upon him. His nightmares often came in the form of a never-ending passage, in which he would find himself running away from something. He was a naturally fast runner, but his legs were always heavy and stubborn in his nightmares. He would wake up when he reached a dead end, which was always a steep cliff high above a raging ocean. Sensing whatever that was chasing him was coming, he would take a leap, and all would become blank. If it was not the never-ending passage, then it was the sharks. In this version, Puck would find himself swimming in an ocean thriving with ferocious sharks. His limbs refused to move each time he made to avoid an attack, and he would wake up as soon as he saw a shark's open jaws closing in on him.

However, the worst nightmares were the ones that involved the night his father walked out on him, his mother and sister. Usually it would feature his father leaving the house with a heavy suitcase, and there would be thunder outside. He would tug at his father's wrist, begging him not to leave, but when he looked up, it was not his father he saw, but a monster, a hideous, scaly thing with a nauseating odour. He would recoil in horror when his father wielded a knife and landed and sharp, cold metal on his throat. Then, he heard Sarah, still a baby, crying at the top of her lungs. His father heard the cries, too, and proceeded to go upstairs. Puck knew that he was going to kill his sister. He raced to grab his father by the ankle, but the monster shook him off violently, sending him crashing down the stairs.

Nevertheless, he dreamt a different nightmare that night. He was standing in a dimly-lit corridor. The walls were dirty and the floors were grimy. An uncanny chill crept up his spine when he heard screams emanating from the southern end of the corridor. He was somewhat prodded to find the source of the screams, and he was horrified at what he saw.

The southern end led to another corridor, which featured a row of windows. In each window, Puck saw a person wearing a drab hospital gown. They all had vacant looks in their eyes. Some were just staring into space, others were shrieking hysterically as they squirmed about in their restraints. There was even a woman with wild grey hair playing with her faeces as she croaked with laughter. Puck felt the sudden urge to puke, but where was he?

He peered into the next window. He could hear muffled sobs coming from it. He took a closer look and was stunned to see Kurt Hummel of all people in his nightmare. Kurt's eyes were not blank or distant like the others, but they were bloodshot, teary and full of sorrow. He seemed to be caressing a photo frame as he wept. Puck was quite sure Kurt was crying over a photo of Blaine. Really, he was such a princess.

Just then, Kurt looked away from the photo frame and stared through the window as though he heard a rustle in the wind. He saw Puck, and his eyes brightened up immediately, filled with a vibrant joyful glitter. Puck shot him a confused stare, but Kurt's lips morphed into a wide smile, as if he had never been sad in the first place. He rushed to the window, whispering something Puck could not decipher. His whispers soon turned to shouts as he started tapping the windows loudly. All Puck could understand from his rambling was the name "Nehemiah", because Kurt was speaking in a language that was not English or even Spanish, the only foreign language he knew. Tears were running down his face, and he was smiling excitedly as he uttered that name repeatedly.

Suddenly, the door of Kurt's cell was flung open. A burly man in a white coat and horn-rimmed eyeglasses entered, along with two other men in white uniforms. He gave something of an order to them, and they proceeded to get hold of Kurt. Kurt's smile faded when he felt their grip on his arms. He turned to them, repeating the name "Nehemiah" over and over again, but they would not budge. As they dragged him out of his cell, Kurt began to struggle violently under their capacity, shrieking in anger. Puck knew he must do something.

"Hey, let him go!" he eventually barked at them, but they ignored him completely. What were they going to do to Kurt? He saw the men exit with a frenzied Kurt, and when they were gone, he eyed the photo frame suspiciously, taking a look at it. To his ultimate shock, it was the photograph of a man who looked very much like him. In fact, let it be said, their faces were identical. The only difference between them was that the man in the photograph did not sport a Mohawk or even a shaved head, to begin with. Confusion stirred in Puck's mind. Who was this man? How did Puck know him?

Just then, he heard Kurt's piercing screams from another corridor. He sped to the source of his screams and through a window, he saw Kurt being strapped onto a bed. The men had shoved something into his mouth. There were wires attached to a sort of helmet they had fitted into his head. Then, he saw the big man in glasses pull a lever, and Kurt's slender body bucked forcefully like a fish thrown out of water. His eyes were blazing red, and tears were gushing from them. Worst of all, his stifled screams were torturously deafening even for a badass like Puck. It was then that Puck realised Kurt had been put away in a mental asylum, but why? Was it because he was gay? Judging from the equipment they were using to administer the shock therapy onto Kurt, he sensed that he had travelled back in time, to the 50's perhaps.

Kurt's screams got louder when the doctor pulled the lever again. He was obviously in great pain. "Hey, stop that!" Puck snarled at them, but they could not hear him. He tried to open the door, but they had locked it. He attempted to break it down, but a heavy pair of arms took hold of him. Puck struggled to let himself free, but his assailant's grip was too powerful. He watched helplessly, tears pouring down his own face as they continued to electrocute Kurt.

Just when he thought that they would never get through with the shock therapy, they eventually did, leaving Kurt alone. Kurt was lying limply on the bed, his eyes glazed and listless. Suddenly, Kurt's head tilted, and his eyes met Puck's. Puck fought back tears of pity and fear as he watched Kurt's mouth twitch into a smile. He started giggling to himself, and his giggle soon turned into a high, eerie laughter as his weakened body wriggled in his restraints. As much as he enjoyed bullying Kurt in the past, he could never bring himself to witness such atrocities inflicted on the male diva. Tried as he might, Puck could never deny the fact that he had always admired Kurt for being one of the most emotionally strong people he knew, and it hurt him a lot to see this strong person turned into a hapless, nervous wreck. He was about to take a closer look at Kurt when he felt something heavy landing on the back of his head, and everything went blank.

Puck woke up, stunned. He could remember the details of his nightmare clearly. Kurt was in a mental institution, receiving shock therapy. He was not a superstitious person, but he somewhat felt that the dream had a certain message in it, and the very thought of it terrified him. He pondered over it for the rest of the night, unable to shut his eyes.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

…**but is it worth continuing? Please do let me know, darling readers! Your support means the world to me! I'm pleased to inform that work on chapter five has already begun, and I'll be posting it in a couple of days. I also want to add that Dream Puck and Dream Kurt are merely fragments of my own imagination, and any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Please feel free to send in your reviews for this chapter; your opinions really keep me going!**


	5. Chapter 5

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**ONCE AGAIN, A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER; I OWE IT ALL TO MY ONGOING FINAL EXAMS. I PROMISE TO BE MORE CONSISTENT AS SOON AS THEY ARE ALL OVER. IN THE MEANTIME, I'LL JUST HAVE TO SLOW DOWN A LITTLE BIT.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER FOUR; YOU GUYS ARE UNDENIABLY THE BEST! I LOVE YOU ALL! HERE'S A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**I HAVE ORIGINALLY INTENDED TO POST THIS CHAPTER AS A MOTHER'S DAY SPECIAL, BUT SINCE I MYSELF COULD NOT CONTAIN MY OWN EXCITEMENT, I JUST HAVE TO POST IT AS SOON AS I AM DONE WITH IT. SO, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY IN ADVANCE TO ALL THE MOMMIES IN THE WORLD! THIS CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN IN YOUR HONOUR!**

**DO NOTE THAT THERE WILL BE MORE USE OF REPETITION AS FOREGROUNDING IN THIS CHAPTER. ALSO, THIS CHAPTER WILL BE LONGER THAN THE REST, BECAUSE THIS IS WHERE THE STORY REACHES THE PRELIMINARY STAGES OF ITS RISING ACTION. HENCE, I HAVE DIVIDED IT INTO TWO PARTS. ENJOY!**

**THE SONG IN THIS CHAPTER IS **_**MAMA **_**BY THE SPICE GIRLS. I DO NOT OWN THIS SONG EITHER, AND NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED AS WELL. THE LYRICS IN **_ITALICS _**STAND FOR PUCK, WHILE THE LYRICS IN **_**BOLD-ITALICS **_**STAND FOR SARAH, AND THE LYRICS IN **_UNDERLINED ITALICS _**STAND FOR RACHEL, WHILE THE LYRICS IN **_**UNDERLINED BOLD ITALICS **_**MEAN THAT THE THREE OF THEM ARE SINGING TOGETHER.**

**Chapter Five: Mother's Day Revelations**

**Kurt and Puck celebrate Mother's Day in their respective homes with their respective families. During the course of reminiscing delightful memories of the past, they stumble upon terrible family secrets their parents prefer not to discuss, secrets that are capable of plunging their lives into unknown destinies. Special appearances: Kurt's stepmom Carole, Puck's family and Rachel Berry. It is basically a family-oriented chapter. Enjoy!**

Part One: Kurt

It was Sunday, and Kurt had returned home for the weekend to celebrate Mother's Day with Carole, Burt and Finn. He was elated to finally have someone to dedicate this very special day to. He and Finn had spent an entire Saturday crafting an elaborate Mother's Day card for Carole. It was a masterpiece to behold: Kurt's impeccable calligraphy was executed in multicoloured glittery ink, while Finn had, under Kurt's supervision, decorated the card with sequins, tinsel and gold studs as well as paper hearts and stars, all against a backdrop of scented yellow cardboard. Inside the card, Finn and Kurt had composed a simple poem for Carole, taking turns to write each line before signing their names at the bottom.

On that morning, the two stepbrothers prepared Carole's favourite breakfast, butterscotch and honey pancakes with whipped cream, maple syrup and mixed berries and served it to her in bed. It was neatly arranged on a tray, complete with a china tea set for serving steaming black coffee, a porcelain bowl of sugar cubes and fresh carnations with their stalks immersed in a water-filled glass jelly jar. Carole was, to begin with, pleasantly surprised. She was deeply moved by her son and stepson's gesture, and she kissed them lovingly on the forehead before starting on her breakfast, feeding little squares of pancake to Burt as well.

"Don't worry, dad. You'll get your breakfast in bed this coming Father's Day," said a smiling Kurt, and Burt laughed humorously. When Carole had finished her pancakes, Finn and Kurt presented the card to her. She fingered the extravagant decoration gingerly, careful not to let the glitter get to her fingers. Opening the card, Carole smiled sweetly as she read the poem dedicated to her. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her two boys proudly. Burt leaned to her side for a glimpse of the poem and marvelled at its beauty, smiling along as he bent to give Carole a light peck on the cheek.

The family of four spent the rest of the morning talking. Carole thanked the boys sincerely for the breakfast and the card. She also reminded them to study hard consistently, saying that she would be truly proud when they have succeeded in life. Finn and Kurt nodded their heads obediently and bent down to kiss Carole on either side of the cheek. Burt added his bit, saying how proud he was to have such wonderful young men he could call his sons, causing Finn and Kurt to beam happily.

At noon, Burt took them out for lunch at a new restaurant that one of his customers had just opened. As they had predicted, the food was sumptuous and served in generous portions. Carole in particular enjoyed her sea bass in basil Hollandaise sauce, and so did Finn with his triple beef cheeseburgers and fries. Kurt called his garden salad with virgin olive oil dressing an Epicurean delight, whereas Burt praised the smoky flavour of his char-grilled lamb chops as he ate.

XXX

Later that evening, Kurt crept into the attic and unearthed a box with the word "Albums" written on top. Blowing away imaginary dust, he opened the box, taking out an old photo album. It was a ritual that Kurt partook alone every Mother's Day since the year of his mother's demise, usually away from his father, even more so now, when Carole and Finn had become part of the family. Out of respect for Carole and Finn, Burt had taken down virtually all of his late first wife's photos and locked them away in the attic. Although Burt was already remarried to Carole and Kurt had found a long-lost mother figure in her, he still missed his own mother terribly.

As he turned the pages, Kurt smiled when he looked at the well-kept snapshots of the deceased woman, of her in her immaculate ivory silk wedding gown and chiffon veil, her hazel locks surrounded by pearls and white roses, her smile incandescent and lovely, as she stood next to a slimmer, dapper Burt in an ebony black suit, sporting a mullet haircut and a moustache. Then, there was a photo of her sitting in the lawn, face swollen from hospital drips yet still able to support a joyful smile as she cradled a day-old Kurt in her arms. In the next frame, she was giving baby Kurt a bath, smiling tenderly as he splashed about in his little plastic bathtub. Kurt's eyes shifted to another photo that featured his mother guiding him as he rode his first tricycle, dated September 1997. He was four years old then. Beneath that photo was the family Christmas portrait, taken the following year. Burt, Kurt and Mrs. Hummel were huddled close to one another under a shimmering Christmas tree amidst a heap of presents, smiling comfortably and contently. That was the year his father started his automobile repair service.

He took out another album. The first photo was dated March 2002. That was the year Kurt's mother was diagnosed with cancer, a battle she was fated to lose, but with high-held dignity. He looked at his mother sitting in the lawn with him standing beside her, her hair having thinned considerably from chemotherapy, her eyes no longer glistening healthily. Nevertheless, she still put on a brave smile for the camera, but was it for Kurt? Tears welled in his eyes when he saw his mother looking slumped as she sat on her wheelchair, smiling nonetheless. Yet there was a sort of knowledge that her end was nearing in her eyes. The photo was dated June 2004, the year she eventually succumbed to the menace that had shackled her so impudently.

"Hey, buddy," Burt's tired voice rang from the door.

"Hey dad," Kurt greeted as he dried his eyes. Burt went to sit beside him.

"I miss her too," said Burt as Kurt rested in his arms, turning a few more pages of the album before putting it away and taking out another one. This time, he fumbled deeper, hoping not to pick out one that contained photos of his mother in her last years. The next album that he fished out was rather small and cloth-bound, and it smelled of mildew. The edges of the pages were mouldy, too.

"Funny, I've never seen this one before," said Kurt.

"Me neither. Let's have a look," said an equally curious Burt.

Kurt turned open the album. It contained black and white studio photographs of people Kurt did not recognise at all. However, the surname "Hummel" was scribbled in faded black ink next to the first names labelled beneath the people in the photographs, indicating that they were his relatives. "Who are these, dad?" asked Kurt, and Burt squinted to take a closer look.

"I don't know, buddy," said Burt as he scanned through the photographs. Then, he remembered. "Your Aunt Mildred had told me to keep some of her old stuff for a while, since she's moving to Wisconsin. You know Aunt Mildred; she was doing some research on our family history. This one's probably all the way from Germany. I must've misplaced it with our own family albums," he explained, but Kurt was more fascinated with the photographs. Never before had he come so close to such old photographs; the only ones he had seen were those printed in his History textbooks. The dates scribbled onto them made them all the more intriguing. Some of them went way back to 1921.

Just as he was about to flip to the last page, Kurt's eyes met those of a young man who resembled him a great deal. The nose, eyes, mouth and even the built, they all matched his. Kurt peered for a closer look, realising that they could have been identical twins. Kurt's lips twitched into an amused smile at the idea, but his smile faded when he saw the name and date scribbled beneath the photograph: Karl Hummel, 16/08/1939, less than a month before Germany declared war on Poland, inciting WWII itself. It was one of the newest photographs in the album; the last one inserted was dated 31/01/1940. His face paled when he remembered _who_ had uttered that name before, and _where_. He turned to look at his father, who was starting to look very uneasy.

"Dad, do you know him?" he asked.

"Who, buddy?" Burt asked uncomfortably.

"Him, Karl Hummel," said Kurt, but Burt took the album away from him, closing it shut before putting it back into the box.

"C'mon, Kurt, you'll have to pack your bags. You should be ready to go back to Dalton now," said Burt dismissively.

"Dad, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, it's just that I saw the time and I figured we'll be late if we don't get ready now," Burt replied.

"Dad, are you trying to hide something from me?" asked a suspicious Kurt as he eyed his father's bare wrist. Burt sensed that Kurt knew he was lying, and he tried to avert his gaze from his.

"Kurt, please, it's late. Even if you want to know, and even if I want to tell you, I wouldn't know where to begin. It's a long story, buddy," said Burt.

"Dad, I think I'd like to know," said Kurt as he touched his father gently on the shoulder.

"Kurt, buddy, I swear you wouldn't want to know anything about him," said Burt.

"Dad, please," Kurt begged.

"No means no, buddy. I choose not to tell you because it's for your own good, and you know how much I love you," replied Burt.

"Dad, please, I need to know who Karl Hummel is," said Kurt.

"Why are you so interested in him?" Burt asked irritably, and Kurt took a step back, but an instinct told him not to give up.

"Dad, if I have to skip class for a day or two just to hear this out, I won't mind. I'll get my homework through e-mail, and I've got wonderful classmates who are always there to help me keep abreast with my studies. I'll be fine, dad, but you have to tell me whatever you know about Karl Hummel," pressed Kurt.

"Look, Kurt, don't make this any harder for me…!"

"Dad, I had a dream where someone called me by this name," Kurt interjected. "When I saw his name, I had a feeling, I don't what it is, but it just tells me something." Burt's eyes widened in horror when he heard what Kurt had told him.

"Kurt, stop thinking about him. It'll all go away, I promise," assured Burt, but even he himself had no faith in his words.

"Dad, I dreamt I was in Germany. It was the War, and someone called me Karl. It was a really bad dream, dad. I haven't been able to sleep these past few nights. I don't think I can be at peace until I find out who Karl Hummel is," said Kurt truthfully. He knew that he was taking a great risk by driving his father's patience over the edge, but he had to know. Ever since the night he had his nightmare, Puck's execution had haunted him for days on end. He himself was baffled at what the nightmare was trying to tell him, but a bit of the fog was cleared when he knew that there once lived somebody named Karl who actually looked like him.

Burt sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. He had a very tough decision to make. He took a long time considering the matter. He was a very pragmatic person by nature, but when Kurt told him about his nightmare, he sensed that there was a hidden message in it. Perhaps Kurt was right. Things would get better if he knew, no matter how dark the secret.

"Alright, buddy, I'll tell you after breakfast tomorrow," he conceded.

Kurt was relieved that his father had finally agreed to help him with solving the mystery that had been on his mind. He looked at his father, and he saw worry in his eyes. Suddenly overwhelmed with love for him, Kurt rushed to Burt and hugged him tightly.

"Dad, I promise nothing will ever change between us, no matter how painful the truth is. I'll always love you just as you have loved me all these years," sobbed Kurt. He knew his father was about to embark on a hazardous venture by acquiescing to reveal an ugly fragment of the family's past, one that could ruin them. Kurt was aware that Burt would have chided him for being silly and overtly imaginative had he been like any other parent, but Burt had made this drastic move because he loved Kurt in a way unlike any other parent. Kurt allowed his tears to flow as he continued to hug his father, while Burt kissed him lovingly on the forehead as he returned his embrace.

Part Two: Puck

It was common knowledge that Noah Puckerman was McKinley High's resident badass, but truth be told, Noah Puckerman alias Puck was a typical Mommy's Boy at heart. He may not come home with straight A's or gilded trophies from school, but he was a son who strove to make his mother proud in other ways he could think of. He was, to an extent, successful. Not many sons were able to start and manage a lucrative business to add to the family income at such a young age, but Puck had. That was the other thing that only a selected few people knew about Puck: he was a responsible son. The beauty of it was that nobody had to tell him he was the new man of the house when his father left. He knew it instantly as he saw past the emptiness that engulfed his house in the wake of his father's absence. He saw the vulnerable look on his mother's face, and in that moment, he knew something had to be done. All Puck knew was that a man of the house provided for his family and protected them in whatever way he could. Which was why whenever he went to replenish his supply of pool-cleaning chemicals in bulk at the downtown warehouse, its owner would cast a knowing smile at him, because the man knew that he and Puck had something in common, that is, they both had families to feed, and should they slack in their jobs, their families would starve.

Today was Mother's Day, and Puck and Sarah had always looked forward to this day with ecstatic enthusiasm. Puck had been saving up for the past month, so he could afford to order the sinfully delicious red velvet cheesecake from the semi-high end bakery that his mother loved so much. Two days ago, he had also requested Rachel Berry to bake him a batch of her famous chocolate and fig rugelach. The Jewish girl had given him a strange look since she knew Puck did not have much of a sweet tooth, but Puck paid her twenty bucks to keep her from damaging his reputation as resident school badass after telling her that the rugelach was for Mother's Day, Jwish-style, in honour of his mother. Touched by his sincerity, Rachel told Puck she would make him the rugelach for free, on condition that she could come along and join in the celebration since she never experienced the joys of Mother's Day before, to which Puck replied "the more, the merrier". Then, at eleven that morning, he drove to his mother's family home to pick up his nana, whom he had invited over, after collecting the cheesecake and some extra cheesy pizzas from Domino's. She, for her part, decided to prepare borsht and beef stroganoff.

When they pulled into the driveway, they unloaded the food quietly and set it on the table, careful not to rouse Mrs. Puckerman's suspicions lest she had already woken up. Rachel Berry was already there, clad in a yellow sweater with pink hearts. In her hands she held a Tupperware container full of her rugelach with a bouquet of carnations resting on top. As Rachel assisted Puck's nana in setting the table, Puck and Sarah slowly crept upstairs to place the Mother's Day card they had spent the previous night making onto their mother's bedside table, complete with a freshly-nipped red rose in a pretty polka-dotted plastic wrapper on top. They tiptoed their way back downstairs, trying their best not to wake her up.

XXX

In the course of two minutes after waking up from a much-needed sleep, Mrs. Ilana Puckerman found herself troubled by her past. She looked at the alarm clock she had deliberately placed beside her pillow. It was already twelve noon. She was tempted to sleep for another hour since it was a Sunday, but the sleep had already left her. She had been working the night shift till the wee hours of dawn, and she was extremely tired, not from the odd hours she had to spend earning a living, but from the mundane routine of it all. She hated her current job, but what else could she do? She had to raise two children entirely on her own for the past six years. As time passed her by, she began to travel back in time itself, particularly to the crucial moments of her life that landed her in this tangled mess called single parenthood.

She came from a lower-middle class family of Ashkenazi Jews who survived the Holocaust in their native Germany almost seventy years ago. They prospered little over the years. She had to quit college in her sophomore year due to financial problems, and she remained shamefully unemployed for two months. The only options she had back then were to either get married to relieve her aging parents of herself or find whatever decent job that was available and work for God knows how long, offering her parents the monetary support they had to depend on for sheer survival. Dreading an aimless future as a spinster, she hastily married her high school crush, a senior schoolmate who had been courting her even after he had graduated and was sent off to a polytechnic college in another state.

His name was Benjamin Puckerman. Tall and lithe with melting brown eyes, he had swept young Ilana Wexler off her feet when she first met him at a cousin's bar mitzvah party shortly after she turned fifteen. His parents had apparently known hers for generations, way before they boarded a steamship bound for America together from Hamburg in 1940. Perhaps it was not desperation on her behalf that made them decide on such a hurried marriage. She was still working as an inventory clerk at the local mall for a reasonably sustainable monthly paycheque when Benjamin proposed to her. She had to this day believed that she and Benjamin were both so torridly in love with each other to the point that Benjamin was up and about to put his education to an abrupt halt so he could marry her. Their parents consented to their marriage nonetheless.

Their marriage was a happy one, at least for the first ten years. Benjamin doted heavily on their son Noah, who was born two years after their wedding, or more significantly, after five heartbreakingly consecutive miscarriages. He was their miracle child, the one who had survived the curse that befell his unborn siblings.

When she fell pregnant a second time, she saw a dark cloud loom over Benjamin's face. Was he worried that this one may not survive as well? Noah's presence had failed to allay his fears, and when he came into the ward to look at their newborn daughter as she breastfed her, she found out that his fear was of an altogether different sort. When she had baby Sarah replaced in her cot and tried to sleep herself, she heard him grumble the words "another mouth to feed". She felt the sting in his tone, and it hurt her a lot. She knew that bringing up Noah was enough of a struggle, but she had always wanted a daughter as well, because having a daughter seemed to make her family complete. She was aware that although mothers and sons shared a unique bond, it was totally different from that of a mother and her daughter's. Sons would transform from boys to men, and inevitably, their loyalties would shift as they grew, from their mothers to their girlfriends to their careers and later to families of their own. Daughters were not like that. They would always stay close to their mothers, even when boyfriends and careers got in the way of their love, until a wife's responsibilities did them part.

Hence, she was overjoyed when Sarah was born. However, Benjamin was not too happy about it. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with his own daughter. He had refused to hold Sarah except when family and friends came knocking to visit. When they were alone, the handsome romantic she once dated became a vicious monster. He snapped at her in front of Noah each time she mentioned Sarah's name, and that was how he took to heavy drinking. When he planned to have Sarah given up for adoption on the grounds that they could not afford a lot of things with a second child in the house, she lost her mind. It was the first time she laid her hands on him, and his on her as he spewed curses in her face. He packed his bags and left that same night. She had no idea that Noah was kept awake by their quarrel, and he had seen every blow and heard every insult. All she did next was to rush to Sarah's cot and cry, promising to never let that monster get to her.

The memories flashed in Mrs. Ilana Puckerman's mind clearly, as if they just happened recently. For a moment, she felt regret for not taking steps one at a time. Had she not been so lazy to find herself a part-time job to put herself through college and subsequently graduate with a diploma, she would have had a better life now. Had she not agreed to marry Benjamin so soon, perhaps they would have been happier and still together to this day. However, when she thought of Benjamin, her regret was replaced by anger. She was angry with herself for not knocking some sense into Benjamin's head and persuading him to complete his studies when he was so smitten with her and so eager to marry her. She was angry with Benjamin for being the selfish and immature idiot that he was. Had he hold on a little tighter, had he possessed a little more faith, none of these would have happened. How could he even consider giving away his own child in return for a few paltry material comforts? How dare he? Thanks to him, Noah did not have a proper upbringing, and Sarah had nobody she could call her father. The anger in her flared, but her love for Noah and Sarah had doused away the unpleasant loathing within. Noah had willingly and readily assumed the role Benjamin had abandoned, and she was immensely grateful to have a son like him. He may have made some terrible mistakes before; how could she forget the day he brought home a pregnant blonde girl and claimed to be the father of her unborn child, plus all the times when she was called to his school because of his disruptive delinquency, and not to mention the day she had to visit the police station because he had smashed her Volvo into an ATM? She had read the pain in his eyes when he told her how much he loved his baby Beth the moment he saw her, yet could not keep her because some woman had offered to adopt her, which he admitted was a better option by far for her future. He had cried in her arms that night. However, as she comforted him, she could not help but cry along, not tears of sorrow, but tears of pride, at what a matured young man her little boy had become. She felt that while it was wrong for him to make such mistakes, she was glad that he had learned some valuable life-lessons from them, hard they may be. He was not turning into another Benjamin after all. He may not be an excellent student either, but he had assisted her in keeping the family afloat in the best way he knew. How sad it must have been for him to not be able to grow up like an ordinary teenager, but never once had she seen him heave a burdensome sigh or utter a frustrated complaint, except when she knew she had nagged at him too much. Then, there was Sarah, her beloved daughter. The little girl had impressed her when she revealed that she wanted to be a doctor. Imagine, the first doctor in the family, thought Mrs. Ilana Puckerman gingerly as she rose from her bed.

XXX

She saw a rose next to a note on her bedside table, and wondered who had placed it there. Unfolding the note, her heart skipped a beat as she read the simple yet poignant message her children had scrawled onto it. Only then did she realise that it was Mother's Day. She had been too busy to even remember the day. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of how much her two children had grown over the years. In spite of what they had been through, they still managed to turn out into self-reliant and independent individuals.

When she had freshened up and changed, she went downstairs, only to be greeted by a loud chorus of "Surprise!" when she saw the dining table laden with food. There was a cake in yellow icing with dark blue words that read "Happy Mother's Day" (she secretly hoped it was red velvet cheese), opened boxes of piping hot pizza with her favourite toppings, a plate of rugelach and huge bowls of beef stroganoff and borsht, her childhood indulgences. Noah led her down the rest of the stairs and seated her on her favourite spot at the dining table. "Happy Mother's Day, ma," he whispered in her ear before giving her a light peck on the cheek. Then, Sarah came forward to hug her, saying "I hope you liked the card we made for you". Next was a girl whom she did not recognise.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Puckerman. I'm Rachel Berry, a friend of Noah's. I'm also co-captain of our high school glee club. I just want to say that it's a big honour for me to be present at this very happy celebration…!" she was cut short by Noah, whom Mrs. Ilana Puckerman could tell did not like to hear her incessant chatter.

"Okay, Rachel, thanks. My ma gets your point," he said as he sat her down. Mrs. Ilana Puckerman did not know what to say. She was just too happy. Just then, she felt a hand clasping hers. It was her mother

"Look at your children. They love you so much," said old Mrs. Wexler.

"Oh, ma, Happy Mother's Day to you, too," said Mrs. Ilana Puckerman to her mother.

When they had finished eating and cleared the table, Rachel led Mrs. Ilana Puckerman and old Mrs. Wexler to the living room, where she settled them down on a couch. Then, Puck appeared with his guitar and sat cross-legged on the floor, followed by Sarah and Rachel, who went to sit on either side next to him.

"So, in commemoration of this very special day, I believe we all do agree that the best way for us children to express our love for you is to sing a song in your honour," said Rachel before she paused for breath.

"Yeah, I think Rachel has said it all," said Puck casually as he strummed. Soon, the three broke into song.

_She used to be my only enemy and never let me be free,_

_Catching me in places that I knew I shouldn't be._

_**Every other day I crossed the line, **__**I didn't mean to be so bad,**_

_**I never thought that you would become the friend I never had.**_

_Back then, I didn't know why, why you were misunderstood,_

_So now, I see through your eyes, all that you did was love._

_**Mama, I love you; mama, I care,**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, my friend**_

_**You're my friend…**_

_**I didn't want to hear it then but I'm not ashamed to say it now**_

_**Every little thing you said, I knew was rough for me**_

_I had a lot of time to think about, about____**the way I used to be,**_

_I never had a sense of my responsibility._

_Back then, I didn't know why, why you were misunderstood,_

_So now, I see through your eyes, all that you did was love._

_**Mama, I love you; mama, I care,**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, my friend**_

_You're my friend…_

_You're my friend…_

_**But now, I'm sure I know why **__(I know why)__**,**__**why you were misunderstood,**_

_**So now, I see through your eyes, all I can give you is love (**__all I can give you is love)__**.**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, I care,**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, my friend**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, I care,**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, my friend.**_

_Whoa…my mama, whoa! __(Your love for me, for loving me, a love that's true, it's guaranteed) _

_**You're my friend…**_

_**Whoa…my mama, whoa!**__ (Your love for me, for loving me, a love that's true, it's guaranteed)_

_**You're my friend…**_

_Whoa…my mama, whoa! __(Your love for me, for loving me, a love that's true, it's guaranteed)_

_**Whoa…my mama, whoa!**__ (Your love for me, for loving me, a love that's true, it's guaranteed)_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, I care,**_

_**Mama, I love you; mama, my friend**_

_You're my friend…_

_**You're my friend…**_

_You're my friend…_

When they had finished, Mrs. Ilana Puckerman and old Mrs. Wexler clapped their hands as tears streamed down their faces. Mrs. Ilana Puckerman bent down to kiss her two children lovingly, and they kissed her back, followed by old Mrs. Wexler. Rachel went to hug the two women, too, and they thanked her for coming.

XXX

It was night, and Puck just could not sleep. He had a great day today, and he was so happy at how things turned out. Finally, tired of counting his sheep, he went downstairs to have a look at some family photos. The photo albums were kept in a drawer beneath the compartment that held the DVD player. Unearthing a stack of photo albums, Puck sat down to have a glimpse at the pictures that preserved his family's happier moments. He smiled when he saw his sister shaking hands with her headmistress as she received her certificate for the Best Student Award, a photo which he himself had snapped. Then, there was another photo of him, his mother, sister and grandmother spinning the Dreidel during last Hanukkah, followed by another picture of them standing next to the temple menorah. As he browsed through the albums, he noticed that most of the photos with his father in them were missing. His mother must have gotten rid of them in an attempt to erase whatever memory that was left of the man in their home. Was it because Puck was now the man of the house?

Puck was pondering on the matter when he came across another photo album, one he had not seen in many years. In fact, he could not remember the last time he saw it. As he flipped it open, unfamiliar faces began to flood his equilibrium. It was little wonder that he could not recognise anybody in the album, for not only were all the photographs black and white, the dates scribbled underneath each of them indicated that they were taken decades before he was born. All he knew was that the album contained photographs of his ancestors before they migrated to Germany, for he saw the label "Wexler & Puckerman (1920-1940)" inscribed onto its cover.

"Noah, what are you doing?" Mrs. Ilana Puckerman's voice resonated from the staircase. Since there was a stiff silence throughout the time he spent gazing at his family photographs, Puck jumped in shock from hearing his mother call out to him.

"Nothing, ma, I was just looking at some photos," he said nonchalantly as he continued to browse through the album. Just as he was about to close it shut, his attention was suddenly riveted to the headshot of a young man whom he felt he had met before. As he tried to recall where he had met the man from the photograph, he noticed that the man bore an uncanny resemblance to him. Although Puck was never really the type to obsessively adore his reflection in the mirror, he thought he saw himself in that man's face. The eyes, which he was quite sure to be brown even though it was not a colour photograph; the genuine smile that showed hints of a flirtatious smirk nonetheless; and not to mention the blatantly oval-shaped head. The only difference between him and the man was that the man had a head full of neatly-combed, wavy hair, whereas Puck sported a Mohawk. Soon, flashes of a strange dream he had a few nights ago came back to him. He cannot remember much of the dream either, but the mention of a name in it suddenly resounded in his mind. It was Nehemiah, and the memory of it made Puck shiver. _Kurt was in a mental asylum, crying at a picture of someone who looks like me and getting shock therapy_. He had remembered, but the fearful part was that the photo in the album was the same one he saw Kurt crying over in his dream.

"Ma, do you know anybody named Nehemiah?" Puck asked as soon as he found his voice, and he saw her taking a step back, as if uttering that name was akin to casting an evil spell.

"Why?" she asked him back. That was all she could muster. Then, her blood froze when Puck came up to her, showing her the photograph.

"I think he looks like me, ma," Puck commented innocuously, and it caused a surge of panic in her. Where and more importantly, how did this offensive photo album find its way into her house? Her mother became her prime suspect; old Mrs. Wexler always had a habit of bringing her dead parents' photo albums with her to festive occasions. She must have misplaced it in the drawer when she came to visit them during last Yom Kippur. Mrs. Ilana Puckerman had never wanted her children to look at those old photographs and ask all kinds of questions about the whereabouts of this person and that, because she knew it would eventually lead to a long story of WWII that will only serve to frighten them the way it did her when she was a girl.

"Come on, Noah, put those albums back. You have school tomorrow, remember?" she reminded him as she snatched the photo album from his hands.

"Ma, why are you getting so worked up on some old album?" he asked, confused.

"I must tell your nana to stop bringing these stupid albums when she comes to visit us next time. We watch S_chindler's List _every year, and that's enough to remind us about what we have gone through during the War. Imagine if Sarah saw this," she grumbled.

"Ma, relax, okay? I was just asking who the guy in the photo is," Puck clarified.

"I don't want you looking at this album ever again. It will only cause trouble," said Mrs. Ilana Puckerman dismissively. She was starting to feel really uncomfortable now.

"Is there something you don't want to tell me?" asked Puck suspiciously.

"Noah, just drop it and get to bed, please," Mrs. Ilana Puckerman ordered.

"Is that guy's name Nehemiah?" asked Puck. He was clutching onto whatever hope that was left for him to solve the puzzle of the nightmare that had been keeping him awake for many nights since. Mrs. Ilana Puckerman was speechless.

"How did you know?" she whispered, too shocked to speak.

"I had a dream about him, a really bad dream. I was thinking maybe you or nana can help me out," said Puck slowly to ensure his mother heard every word clearly.

"Noah, it's a long story. You're probably too young to hear it," conceded Mrs. Ilana Puckerman as she took the album with her.

"Ma, I'm seventeen years old. Does that sound too young for you?" asked Puck.

"Look, Noah, just stop thinking about that dream, okay?" begged Mrs. Ilana Puckerman.

"Ma, you make us watch _Schindler's List _once a year even when Sarah's too young to see all that killing. I'm asking about Nehemiah because I had a dream about him. I have a feeling he's already dead, and you don't dream about dead people all the time, you know. Doesn't this tell you s_omething_?" Puck persisted.

Mrs. Ilana Puckerman sat down on the stairs and rubbed her temples. Fear came over her when her beloved Noah told her he had dreamt of some relative who was unfortunate enough to perish in the Holocaust. Did the dead man have some unfinished business? Normally she would not believe in such hogwash, but she saw truth in Noah's words. You do not dream about dead people all the time. She was sure he was not up to some sick joke because she knew that as mischievous as Noah turned out to be, he would never resort to anything so disrespectful, especially towards the family. Furthermore, this was the first time he had actually shown interest in the family history. She was aware that Nehemiah Wexler's story would probably affect him emotionally, but when she remembered how strong he had become in the years since Benjamin had walked out, she felt that it was alright to share this unwanted family secret with him. Noah should be able to handle this, she thought to herself. So she squared her shoulders and rose to face her son.

"I'll tell you, first thing tomorrow morning. If you need any more information, there's always nana," she finally said, her voice quivering. Puck sensed the fear in her voice, and he let down his inquisitive disposition. It was as if she was bracing for some kind of oncoming loss to take place in her life.

"Ma, I don't care how bad this is going to be, because I'll still take care of us. I'm not going to be like dad, I promise. I'll make sure Sarah gets to be a doctor, and you don't have to take up those stupid jobs anymore. If there really is something about that dream I had, I'll do my best to set it straight, but it won't change my responsibilities towards our family, because I'm the man of the house," declared Puck, and a teary-eyed Mrs. Ilana Puckerman gave him a tender, loving kiss on the forehead as he hugged her.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

…**or should it not? I hope I did not bore you with such a LONG chapter. Nevertheless, your reviews are always welcome, darling readers. For now, I really need your support to keep myself going, because I foresee chapter six to be a greater challenge. I do hope you enjoy this chapter, though. Do not hesitate to share your opinions, for it is, I must say once again, your encouragement and patience, my darling readers, that help me rise from strength to strength.**


	6. Chapter 6

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**SERIOUSLY, YOU CANNOT IMAGINE HOW RELIEVED I AM, BECAUSE MY FINAL EXAMS ARE FINALLY ****OVER****! HOWEVER, I MAY STILL BE UNABLE TO WRITE CONSISTENTLY BECAUSE I WILL BE BUSY MOVING OUT OF MY CAMPUS FOR THE SUMMER BREAK. **

**I AM DEEPLY SORRY FOR DELAYING THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE I HAD TO DO SOME RESEARCH ON WWII TO MAKE THE STORY MORE CONVINCING AND COMPELLING.**

**THANKS A QUINTILLION TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER FIVE; WORDS THEMSELVES CANNOT EXPRESS MY JOY AT READING YOUR COMMENTS, ENCOURAGEMENTS AND SUPPORT. YOU ARE THE BEST, SECOND TO NONE, IN FACT. HERE'S A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**FOR THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO SOME BOY N BOY ACTION BETWEEN PUCK AND KURT, I AM SORRY TO SAY THAT IT MIGHT NOT HAPPEN IN THIS CHAPTER YET, BECAUSE THE MAJOR CONFLICTS HAVE YET TO SOLVED. JUST BEAR WITH ME, PLEASE. I PROMISE I WILL NOT LET YOU DOWN.**

**THIS CHAPTER IS WRITTEN IN LOVING MEMORY OF THE SIX MILLION JEWS (AND PERHAPS MORE), ROMANII, SLAVS, LGBT's AND DISABLED PERSONS WHO PERISHED IN THE NUMEROUS CONCENTRATION CAMPS UNDER HITLER'S REGIME DURING WWII, AS WELL AS THE MEMBERS OF THE WHITE ROSE, A GERMAN ANTI-NAZI RESISTANCE GROUP WHO SPOKE OPENLY AGAINST HITLER'S BRUTAL ETHNIC CLEANSING POGROMS AND FACED THE GUILLOTINE BRAVELY WITHOUT REMORSE. THE COURAGE OF ALL THESE PEOPLE IN THE FACE OF DEATH AND THEIR HEROIC DEEDS WILL ALWAYS BE CHERISHED AND REMEMBERED.**

**Chapter Six: Unleashing the Terror Within**

**Kurt's dad and Puck's mom finally come to terms with their own fears and decide to tell their inquisitive sons the hidden truth behind their worst family secrets that suddenly resurface after so many years. The use of repetition as a form of foregrounding will still be featured in this chapter, not to bore you, but to highlight the hidden connection between Puck and Kurt.**

Part One: Kurt

Burt sat stiffly on his favourite dining chair. Carole had prepared his oatmeal and coffee, but he just did not have any appetite for breakfast today. During the previous night, he had related to Carole about Kurt's discovery in the attic. He was so unsure of where to begin. He nearly regretted promising Kurt that he would tell him all he knew about Karl Hummel. It was truly unnatural for Kurt to suddenly have a dream about a relative nobody in the family dared to talk about, or worse, somebody Kurt hardly knew.

"Honey, you know you have to tell him about this," said Carole as she sat next to him.

"I don't know how he might take it. He's young, always eager to know the truth, no matter how ugly it is," sighed Burt as he finally took a swig of his coffee. It was already cold.

"Don't worry, honey. Everything will be fine. Kurt's a strong boy, he'll get through it, I know he will," reassured Carole as she pecked Burt on the cheek. It was then that Kurt entered the kitchen. Although he had just completed his morning skincare routine, the fatigue was not lost on his face.

"Hey, buddy," greeted Burt. "You slept well?"

Kurt nodded with a tired smile. He went over to the kitchen counter to fix himself a cup of green tea. He had spent the previous night tossing and turning in bed, anticipating the terrible secret about Karl Hummel that his father was so afraid to share.

"Dad, about last night, I meant what I said," said Kurt as he sat down with his morning cuppa, to which Burt responded with a thankful clasp on his shoulder. There was an awkward silence, which was eventually broken by the beeping of Carole's cell.

"I should be going. My sister-in-law needs help with shopping for her daughter's birthday present," said Carole, her eyes scanning over the text message she just received before getting up to leave.

When Carole had left the house, the awkward silence wafted in between Burt and Kurt again. Burt broke it first.

"Okay, buddy, you ready?"

"Anytime, dad," replied Kurt as he sat back to hear what he had been waiting for all night.

XXX

Karl Hummel was a cousin of Kurt's great-grandparents who remained in Germany. He was born into a staunch Catholic family, the youngest of five children. He was the apple of his parents' eyes; he had a voice like a nightingale's, and he was probably the most well-read and intelligent boy anyone would ever come across. The family foresaw a great future ahead of him. Unfortunately, this was not to be, as political tensions were boiling across Europe, and even though it was years before WWII broke out, the Hummel family predicted trouble lying ahead.

Now, the Hummel family was one of the very few old families in German Bavaria that remained neutral towards both Nazis and antifascists. They were well-loved by the people around them for their noble acts of charity. When the Nazis came to power in January 1933, they immediately knew that a huge catastrophe for anyone who was not German, their Jewish neighbours in particular, was at hand. Wolfgang Hummel, the benevolent patriarch of the Hummel clan, began to conduct a secret underground transportation programme to let Jewish, Romani and Slav families flee Germany safely to Britain, Canada and the United States. It was initially executed as a small-scale rescue effort to avoid suspicion, for the Hummel family had many enemies due to their political neutrality. Karl Hummel was actively involved in his father's cause, and he was known to have many Jewish friends, mainly because he was shunned by his own fellow German schoolmates. In 1942, while studying at Munich University, he was one of the most eager volunteers to join the White Rose, a small but influential anti-Nazi resistance group.

Wolfgang Hummel's secret plan went miraculously unnoticed for eight years, until the Nazis discovered it through an anonymous tip. By then, WWII had broken out, and Wolfgang Hummel had been sheltering Jewish families under his wing for more than 3 years. He immediately organised to have all his remaining Jewish beneficiaries sent to neighbouring Switzerland, amidst the unspeakable danger before the Nazis descended upon his home.

Wolfgang Hummel breathed his last when a telegram announcing the safe settlement of his last Jewish beneficiaries in Switzerland arrived, and the onus of preventing the deaths of more Jews under the Nazis fell on young Karl Hummel and his older siblings. However, due to the life-threatening situation surrounding them, the Hummel children found their late father's rescue plan nearly impossible.

Just as they were about to give up on their war effort in the spring of 1943, Karl Hummel disappeared suddenly. Rumour had it that he was arrested along with the Scholl siblings, his psychology professor Kurt Huber and other core members of the White Rose. In spite of the escalating violence, his siblings searched frantically for him, even visiting the Stadelheim Prison where most of his friends from the White Rose were held. He was not with them. They nearly lost hope in July, when the beheadings of the White Rose's members were carried out. However, in 1944, he was found by his eldest brother, Otto, wandering the streets of Munich like a derelict. He had gotten so unkempt that it was hard to recognise him. Otto was able to identify him because he was humming to the tune of his favourite song, The Blue Danube. When Otto came up to him, Karl had a glassy look in his eyes. He broke into copious tears when he saw his older brother, mumbling "I killed him" repeatedly. They were nearly ambushed by an oncoming rush of gunfire when they met in the middle of a heavily damaged boulevard. It was only then that Otto saw the yellow star pinned onto Karl's oversized jacket.

Delirious with confusion, Otto did not know what to say to Karl. All he did was follow Karl as he led him to another part of the city, which equally ravaged. To Otto's horror, Karl was kneeling beside a rotting corpse, weeping. Although he tried to avoid the stench, his curiosity got the better of him, and he peered for a closer look. He was further appalled when he discovered whose corpse it was. It belonged to one Nehemiah Wexler, which was even more baffling because he remembered seeing off the entire Wexler family along with another Jewish household, the Puckermen, during their arduous trip to Hamburg.

"He watched them kill the Jew," said a maimed vagrant from the ruins. "He did nothing to save the Jew; he just watched," he added.

Otto tried to get Karl away from the corpse, but Karl shook him away violently, hurling insults in the foulest German he knew at his own brother. All Otto could remember from his brother's fearsome tirade was "How dare you come between my husband and me!"

Otto knew that Karl and Nehemiah Wexler were very close friends from the moment they met. The Wexler and Puckerman families sought temporary political asylum from the Hummel household in 1938, a year before Hitler waged a cruel war on Poland. Everyone thought that Karl befriended Nehemiah because they had several things in common. To begin with, Nehemiah Wexler was an extremely talented musician, and he often accompanied Karl with his violin or guitar as Karl sang. While Karl admired Nehemiah for his subliminally impeccable command of music, Nehemiah admired Karl for being different; Karl was one of very few German students to have never signed up for the then-compulsory Hitler Youth because of its fascist ideologies. It did not dawn upon anybody that Karl and Nehemiah were more than just best friends. They were closer than brothers, at the very most.

When the word "husband" escaped Karl's lips, Otto was taken aback. What was Karl talking about? Was Karl romantically involved with Nehemiah? He suddenly remembered one of his friends, Hermann Winkler, who was marched off to Auschwitz by the Nazis because of his homosexuality and never came out alive. Within the Hummel family as well, homosexuality was regarded as a taboo because it went against the Laws of Creation that were instilled into their Catholic upbringing. A surge of revulsion channelled itself in Otto's mind. Karl was their father's favourite son, and their mother always paid him more attention than the rest of them. How could he reciprocate their love like this? How dare he defile the family name by doing something so sacrilegious? He had noticed hints of coldness between Karl and Nehemiah on the day Nehemiah was about to leave for Hamburg with his family. Was it because Nehemiah had rejected Karl? Karl had disappeared that very night, too. Otto's initial sense of horror over his brother's predicament soon became one of cold contempt. He imagined their father and other distinguished members of the Hummel family being brought to their knees in public because of Karl's sodomy. Ashamed to call Karl as one of his own, he left Karl in the ruins, mourning over Nehemiah's disgusting corpse.

When the war ended in 1945, Wolfgang Hummel's younger brother Friedrich, an established architect, was assigned to rebuild parts of Munich. He found Karl dying of starvation on the streets and immediately took him in. He was unaware of Otto's discovery.

It took years to nurse Karl back to health, at least physically. When he was finally conscious, he was found speaking in a language that only he seemed to know. A concerned Friedrich wrote to Otto, who was already in London, about Karl. He was suspicious when Otto said he had washed his hands off his younger brother. What had happened within his brother's family that had caused his children to disown and discard each other? When he found Karl dying on the streets, he saw that he was clutching onto a tattered cloth bag. The bag was never opened out of respect for Karl's privacy, but Friedrich had to search for answers. What he found stunned him considerably. In spite of the bag's bad shape, its contents were still in good condition. There was a framed photograph of a young man whom he believed was a friend of Karl's, a scrolled-up music sheet and several letters. Before he could read any of the letters, he felt a forearm threatening to break his neck. It was Karl. How did he find his way into the study? Friedrich was shocked that Karl had regained his strength so quickly. Nevertheless, being an active sportsman in his youth, Friedrich was able to fight off Karl, landing him onto the floor with a thud. His eyes widened with terror as he heard Karl's high hysterical laughter ringing in his study.

In the summer of 1951, about a month after Karl's attack on Friedrich, Friedrich realised that Karl was a threat not only to him and his family, but to himself as well. When he wormed the truth out from Otto, he had Karl put away in a mental institution in the United States, so that the Hummel family who stayed on in Europe would not know of his whereabouts. Everyone agreed that Karl had already caused enough damage to the family honour. It was only right that he be forgotten. To this day, Karl Hummel's story was never brought up in any family gathering. It was an unspoken family rule that nobody talks openly about deranged relatives. If anyone ever asked about him, the only answer they would get was that he was killed in an RAF air raid in Hamburg while seeing off a refugee Jewish family bound for New York.

XXX

Kurt was speechless when Burt finished. He was partly amazed that his father knew so much about someone who was not supposed to matter to him at all, but then again, Karl Hummel was part of his extended family. Aunt Mildred must have spent hours telling Karl's story. There were tears in his eyes when he thought of Karl being disowned just because he was gay. How did his father react when he saw him growing up to look and behave more and more like Karl every year? Did it appal him? Did it frighten him?

"That was so long ago," he said when he found his voice. He saw that his father was afraid to look him the eye. "Dad, you okay?" he asked.

"I know you must be wondering why I've never told you this before. When your aunt Mildred shared this story with me, I prayed that I'd never get a son like Karl," said Burt, shaking his head as if he was chiding himself.

"But here I am. I look just like him, and I'm gay," said Kurt bitterly.

"Hey, you are the best thing that has ever happened to your mom and me. I didn't care if you'd grow up to resemble Karl, and I didn't give a shit when you told me you were gay. All I know is, you've proven to be stronger than anybody else I've ever known, and I couldn't have asked for a better son. I've said I'll always love you no matter what. Besides, didn't you say nothing was ever going to change between us if I told you this?" asked Burt. Kurt's face softened when he heard his father's words. A fresh flow of tears coursed down his cheeks as Burt kissed him on the forehead.

"Dad, don't ever leave me," he found himself saying.

"Don't talk like that, buddy. Please, you know we'll always love you," whispered Burt as he tried to calm Kurt down. Kurt remained in his father's strong protective embrace throughout that morning, basking in the glowing truth that he was surrounded by a wonderful family and he would never be forsaken like Karl Hummel, but deep down in his heart, he was still feeling uneasy. It was as if there was something he had to do for Karl Hummel, but he could not narrow down his scope as to what it was. He knew this was not the end yet, that there would be bigger demons for him to conquer.

Part Two: Puck

Breakfast was never an elaborate affair for Puck. In fact, he seldom ate his first meal of the day at home. He normally ate when he drove to school, usually a hastily prepared sandwich of peanut butter on rye bread, or a heavy snack bar, always downed with a 250ml carton of milk. There was never enough time to sit down and enjoy a hearty meal before school. Sarah had to get ready for school, and she was too young to do it alone. Their mother was often asleep until early evening, waking up just in time for her night shift, so Puck had to do everything for Sarah before he himself could prepare for school.

However, today was different. Since the previous day was a Sunday and Mrs. Ilana Puckerman always took leave on Sundays, there was no need for Puck to rush. She had helped Sarah get ready for school, and she even fixed breakfast for Puck. When Sarah had gotten onto the school bus on the pretext of helping a classmate with her schoolwork before classes began, there was still plenty of time left before school began, and Puck was quite excited to hear about Nehemiah Wexler, too. In fact, he had waited all night to hear about him.

"So, ma," he began as he chomped on his beef brisket sandwich, "Who's Nehemiah?" he asked directly to the point, causing Mrs. Ilana Puckerman to flinch upon hearing the name. However, she recollected herself when she felt Puck's strong assuring hand resting on her shoulder.

"Alright, I'll tell you," she said.

XXX

Nehemiah Wexler came from a big family of German Jews living in Dresden. He was Mrs. Ilana Puckerman's granduncle, to be precise. The Wexler family was originally very wealthy and influential, until the Nazis came to power in 1933. Along with many other Jews, the Wexler family became a target of discrimination and victims of Hitler's anti-Semitic pogroms. Then, things got so bad in 1938 that the entire Wexler family had to leave the city in shame. There was nothing left for them in Dresden, for the Nazis had broken into their home and looted all their valuables.

Nehemiah was the eldest child and the only son in the extended family. He was blessed with an ear for music that rivalled many of his German contemporaries'; he was a gifted pianist, violinist, guitarist, singer, composer and poet. Not only that, he was a musician with ravishing good looks. He had a seductive baritone voice that made girls swoon at him as he sang while he played either the piano or guitar. It was often said that if Nehemiah had been born in more peaceful times, he would have made his family proud with his music. Family lore has it that at one point, nearly all the Jewish girls of marriageable age in Dresden had fallen head over heels for him. Those were happier times then, when Nehemiah used to play the violin and occasionally lend his voice for the city's orchestra. For the time being, he was able to support his family with his job as a high-paying musician, but when Hitler's hatred for the Jews took control of the public, he was ultimately sacked and isolated for his ethnicity and religion.

Nehemiah was livid at the Nazis' treatment towards his fellow Jews. In 1935, he began to pen firebrand poems and ballads anonymously in Yiddish and German, calling for the unity of all Jews against their greatest enemy, Adolf Hitler. He was lucky to have never been discovered and arrested by the dreaded Gestapo. When starvation began to plague the Wexler family, they knew it was time to leave Dresden. Most of Dresden's other Jewish clans have either fled the city, or worse, herded off to the concentration camps. In fact, only the Wexler and Puckerman families had stayed behind in hiding, but how much longer could they live under such rigorous confinement?

Now, rumour has it that there was an affluent Catholic tradesman surnamed Hummel based in Bavaria who was conducting a secret rescue effort for refugee Jewish, Romani and Slav families, shipping them off to London, New York and Montreal along with his cargo. It was a promising escape for the two families, but way too risky. Bavaria was far southeast, and its capital city was Munich, the Nazis' most powerful stronghold. To enter Bavaria was like falling into a death-trap, and Hummel might just be a myth after all, but despite the hazards and uncertainties, the two families were desperate enough to resort to such perilous measures. So, a month after the infamous Night of Broken Glass, they fled Dresden through a series of secret underground tunnels constructed by the Wexler family about a century ago, never to be heard of again.

The Wexler and Puckerman families arrived in rural Bavaria, weary and starving in the early days of the winter of 1938. Based on details given by reliable friends who have already sought political asylum in the United States and Canada, the Hummel house was easy to locate. They knocked at the door of the large mansion in the dead of night as advised, and as soon as the doors were opened, they knew they had nothing to fear for the time being. When they entered, they found that there were many others who arrived before them, all waiting anxiously for a life of freedom and without discrimination.

While Wolfgang Hummel, the benevolent patriarch of the household, discussed his elaborate escape plans with the men of the Wexler and Puckerman families long into the night, Nehemiah was happy to find himself immersed in the world of music again. He had found a friend in Wolfgang Hummel's youngest son, who was just as musically inclined as he was. They became such close friends to the extent that they were inseparable like a pair of monozygotic twin brothers.

In the summer of 1940, the time finally came for the two families to board a steamship bound for New York. To avoid suspicion and also because of the long, arduous journey, they had to leave in very small groups of four to the port city of Hamburg, which was way up north. Furthermore, the intervals were painfully lengthy, and in addition to that, there were the smaller families, whose escapades were scheduled in between theirs. Nehemiah's turn came eventually in early 1943, and Ora Puckerman, who was scheduled to depart with him, recalled how reluctant he was to go with them. She also remembered seeing Nehemiah do things with the Hummel boy that 10-year old girls were not supposed to see and more importantly, things that young men were not supposed to do to each other, several nights before their departure. What she saw had frightened her, but she kept her peace and chose not to tell anyone. She was terrified of what their families would do to Nehemiah if they found out. Nehemiah had taught her to play the piano, and he was her favourite among the members of the Wexler family, and she decided she would not reveal anything of his rendezvous with their emancipator's son to anybody. She loved him too much to see him excommunicated from his own family and subsequently from their community.

However, on the first night of their trip to Hamburg, Nehemiah suddenly disappeared. It was too late to search for him when morning came. The remainder of the Wexler and Puckerman families proceeded to Hamburg with heavy hearts, dreading Nehemiah's fate. Did he lose his way and stumble upon the Gestapo? Was he being led to his death in Auschwitz as they were marching to a new life?

A week later, they finally set foot on the ship that would take them to a better, safer future, but they were deeply troubled by Nehemiah's disappearance. As they mourned Nehemiah's possible death, Ora Puckerman found a hurriedly scribbled note written in Yiddish, hidden in the pocket of her coat. She handed it to Nehemiah's uncle Ezekiel, since she could neither read nor understand Yiddish. All she knew was that the note was in Nehemiah's hand. Excitement fluttered in her heart for a moment, hoping that Nehemiah had written to say that he was safe and would be joining them soon, but her excitement turned to fear when she saw uncle Ezekiel's face turn white with anger as he read the note. She cowered in her mother's bosom when she heard him utter curses at Nehemiah.

"The man I love, indeed!" he spat in disgust as he ripped the note apart, casting the shredded paper into the sea. He muttered a curt "He is dead to us" while her mother tried to calm him down.

Many years later, when they had settled down in Ohio, thinking they would never receive any more news whatsoever from Germany, a letter by a certain Friedrich Hummel arrived to them from Munich, informing them that Nehemiah Wexler had been killed on the spot by patrolling Nazi troops. He was on the wanted list for inciting Jewish insurgencies against Hitler in 1943, around the same time after his mysterious disappearance. Only Nehemiah's mother and Ora Puckerman broke down that day. The others had already erased him from their minds for good. Although he was considered a war hero by the dwindling Jewish community in Dresden, they still refused to acknowledge him as one of their own. To this day, Nehemiah Wexler's name was never mentioned in any family gathering. It was an unspoken family rule that excommunicated relatives should never be brought to light, dead or alive.

XXX

There was a prolonged silence around the dining table when Mrs. Ilana Puckerman finished narrating the tragedy that was Nehemiah Wexler. Although she personally had nothing against gay men, she had hoped that her own son would never turn out to be like Nehemiah. So horrid was his offence that his contribution to the Jews during the War got overlooked so dismissively by his own family. It was a fate worse than an evil curse inflicted to last for seven generations. When Puck turned fourteen three years ago, some of the older women in the family had begun to see similarities between Nehemiah and him. She heaved a sigh of relief when they came down to his hair and dropped the matter completely.

"Thanks for telling me, ma," Puck said eventually. He was slightly angry at how his mother's family had chosen to forget Nehemiah, in spite of his heroism, just because he was gay. Ever since he started joining the glee club, he began to be more tolerable towards the gay students of his school, mostly because he was inspired by how strong and unfaltering his former fellow glee clubber Kurt was. Kurt had indirectly taught him that people should not be judged and discriminated due to their respective sexualities.

"Noah, are you alright?" asked Mrs. Ilana Puckerman when she saw her son staring into space, deep in contemplation.

"I'm fine, ma. It's just that I should be heading for school now. Bye," said Puck as he hugged his mother before leaving the house.

As Puck drove to school in his truck, he thought of Nehemiah. They came from two very different spectrums of the world and of time, yet they were so akin to one another, not just in terms of looks. Like Nehemiah, Noah had a sense of duty towards those who meant the world to him, namely his mother and sister. Nehemiah may be gay, but that did not make him any less of a man. Yes, being gay does not make you any less of a man, and Nehemiah was the third person to teach Puck that lesson, after Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky. Just then, Kurt's name wafted into his mind. Not only had the other boy appeared in his dream, he was probably descended from the very man who saved his ancestors from certain death. Although he was never a big fan of history, he felt a sudden need to uncover more of his family's past, and an instinct told him that Kurt might be just the right person to assist him. It was as if he was propelled by Nehemiah Wexler himself, but to what outcome? What did Nehemiah Wexler want from him? Puck was haunted by these questions even as he parked his truck in the school grounds and blended into the student population of McKinley High.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

…**but should I, really? I desperately need your comments, darling readers. I am about to start work on chapter seven, but I must warn you that it will also take time. This chapter is actually a tribute to my late grandmother, who survived the Japanese Occupation during WWII in North Borneo, now the states of Sabah and Sarawak in present-day Malaysia. She never got to finish narrating her real-life wartime experiences with me. She shall be sadly missed always. Truth be told, I was pretty traumatised after reading various accounts of WWII in Europe, especially about the atrocities committed by the Nazis during the Holocaust. It haunted me for days on end, but your encouragements and support have inspired me to continue with this story. Please do not hesitate to send in your reviews for this chapter. I hope I did not scare any of you by taking a rather dark twist on this story. Nevertheless, your opinions are very much welcome and appreciated, for it is, I must say once again, your support, encouragement and patience, my darling readers, that contribute to the progress of this story. I would like to apologise if any of the real-life incidents that took place during WWII mentioned in this chapter have been narrated incorrectly. I also want to add that all new characters in this chapter, namely Kurt and Puck's ancestors, are merely figments of my own imagination, and any resemblance to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**


	7. Chapter 7

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER SIX; YOU GUYS ARE ABSOLUTELY DARLING! I LOVE YOU ALL! HERE'S A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**THE TRAUMA OF READING WWII CRIMES ON HUMANITY HAS YET TO SINK IN, BUT I AM TRYING MY LEVEL BEST TO WRITE CONSISTENTLY.**

**AS OF NOW, I AM TRYING TO FOCUS ON PUCK AND KURT'S RELATIONSHIP, BUT STILL, THE STORY'S CLIMAX IS FAR FROM NEAR. PLEASE BEAR WITH ME, DARLING READERS. I PROMISE NEVER TO LET YOU DOWN.**

**Chapter Seven: Reconciliation**

**Two weeks after Mother's Day and the terrible revelations, Puck and Kurt meet by chance, and their encounter results in forgiveness. Soon, the revelations resurface, prompting both boys to bombard each other with questions. There is a slight use of repetition as a form of foregrounding in this chapter. This chapter will sport some humour to make up for all the grimness in the previous chapters. Enjoy!**

It was a boring Sunday. Puck was overwhelmed by the monotony of the computer game he had spent all week trying to master. He had been cleaning three swimming pools on Saturday, and he was looking forward to a pleasant Sunday.

"I told you not to work on Saturdays. It's the Sabbath, remember?" Mrs. Ilana Puckerman nagged as she poured him a glass of milk for breakfast. Puck turned to stare at her. It was just a stare, free from any show of emotions whatsoever, but it somehow made his mother's irritable lips curl into a loving smile. She bent down to kiss his prickly shaved head.

"What was that for?" asked Puck, confused.

"For being such a good boy," she replied as she sat down to her coffee. Puck lowered his head to hide his smile. He knew that even though he was generally perceived as a delinquent by many, at least he was not treated as such in his own house.

"I think I'll go watch some TV first," he said after finishing his cereal as he got up to leave the dining table.

There was nothing to watch on television either, mostly reruns of whatever that was broadcasted on weekdays. Puck wished he could afford more channels on cable. When it was ten, Sarah had come down and sat on her favourite beanbag, remote control in one hand and her favourite doll in another. She was now the supreme authority of the TV. Now that she had the remote control, only she had the right to select which shows to watch. Puck shook his head in amusement at her agility. How she managed to pry the remote control out of his hands so quickly was beyond his comprehension. She had already switched channels. They were now watching an episode of Sesame Street. Perhaps there really was nothing worth watching on Sunday mornings, because by right, everyone should be doing something else other than glue their eyes to the TV screen. It was the weekend, after all. He had to get out of the house.

"See you, kiddo," he said to Sarah, patting her on the head as he got up and grabbed his keys to leave.

"Noah, look at Big Bird and his big toothbrush!" squealed an excited Sarah as she let out a high, sweet laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got to go. Tell ma I'll be out," and having said those words, he left the house. As he drove his truck, he wandered around the neighbourhood, watching the weekend scenario that was being played out before him. A group of children aged ten to twelve were tossing a Frisbee in the park, and there was a family or two returning from Sunday service at church. For some reason, Puck envied them. He envied the Frisbee-tossing children for their freedom of sorts, which he felt he was denied when he was their age. Then, there were the churchgoing families. Puck was not much of a religious person, but there was something that those families had that his lacked. Was it the close-knitted bond between the parents and their children? Then again, despite the way things turned out, Puck, his mother and sister held tightly onto each other in a unique way, even though it was impossible for them to spend time together most of the time. While pondering on those thoughts, he had absentmindedly driven into the lane where Finn's new house was, or, simply put, Kurt's house.

Puck swallowed hard. After his falling out with Kurt, he was automatically crossed off the list in Finn's good books. It had been weeks since he last visited Finn. How would Finn react if he found him knocking at his front door, contrite and repentant? Would Finn reconsider and agree to rebuild their friendship? His mind was full of questions. He was never the nervous type; in fact, he took pride in his impetuous nature, always acting on impulse without wasting a moment. Now here he was, hands in his pockets and legs fidgeting wildly as he walked up to knock at Burt Hummel's door. However, an instinct guided him forward, encouraging him to lift his knuckles to rap on the varnished painted wood.

XXX

It was another Sunday, and Kurt was glad to be home. Weekends at Dalton Academy seemed to have lost its charm especially after he and Blaine broke up a month ago. Earlier on, he had woken up to the aroma of butter melting on piping hot toast and freshly-brewed coffee as he went about with his skincare routine. It was a sure promising sign of a pleasant Sunday.

Seated to breakfast with family was yet another joy of spending weekends at home that Kurt had been anticipating of late. It was delightful to exchange fashion tips with his stepmother Carole and listen to his father and Finn discuss sports-related issues as they all munched on their toast and sipped either coffee or tea. However, on that particular Sunday, the serenity of their morning ritual was broken by a hesitant knocking on the door. Not that guests were unwelcome, but visitors were very often least expected at breakfast time.

"I'll get it," said Kurt cheerfully as he rose to answer the door. He was still troubled by Karl Hummel's story, but the ongoing rush of schoolwork and Warblers practice at Dalton had made it quite the least of his concerns for the time being. Opening the door, he was stunned to find Puck standing outside, eyes darting up and down consciously, hands stuffed in his pockets and feet shifting as if he had to answer nature's call.

"Noah," Kurt exclaimed a little too loudly. Realising that he had called Puck by his first name, he lowered his gaze, desperately trying to hide his blushing face. "I mean, Puck," he stammered. "To what do I owe you the honour of appearing before my doorstep this fine morning?" he eventually asked, regaining a tinge of his bitchiness. After all, the boy had just offended him in the worst way possible not too long ago, and such a crime was not an easy one to pardon. Furthermore, he had to think two steps ahead of Puck, before the boy could take another chance and hurt him again.

"Whatever, Hummel," Puck retorted. "Finn in?" he asked casually. He was about to answer Puck when Carole's voice rang from the dining table. In fact, it was too near to come from the dining table. She was heading to the door.

"Who is it, Kurt?" she asked, but before Kurt could open his mouth, she was already at the door. "Why, hello, Noah," she greeted Puck warmly when she saw him standing outside.

"Morning, Mrs. H," Puck greeted back with a polite smile.

"Finn's still at his breakfast. Why don't you join us?" she offered, and Puck's smile widened. Kurt rolled his eyes in disbelief. Really, Puck can be so flattering. His expression of distaste was not lost on Puck's gaze, though.

"What's wrong, princess? Feeling a little jealous?" he teased when Carole had gotten back to joining Finn and Burt for breakfast. He flashed his trademark smirk when he saw Kurt's porcelain cheeks turn a deep shade of crimson.

"It's bad enough that you're pretending to play the good boy next door in front of my stepmom. Must you rub it in my face as well?" he mumbled through clenched teeth as he reluctantly allowed Puck in.

An awkward silence drifted across the dining table when Puck's gaze met Finn's. Finn was, at his best, dumbstruck, but the disquiet was clear on his face. _What on Earth is Puck doing here? Does he not have any pools to clean, or any girls to knock up? _Kurt had to elbow him in the ribs just so he would stop glaring daggers at his former best friend.

"Finn, don't be rude. Say 'hi'," said Carole. She herself was puzzled at her son's behaviour.

"S' up, dude," Finn finally said, and the two boys' hands clasped in greeting.

"Come, Noah. Have some toast. Tea or coffee?" she asked.

"Coffee, please," replied Puck.

"Sugar or creamer?" asked Carole.

"Uh, it's alright, Mrs. H, I'm good. I can help myself," excused Puck politely as he poured himself a cup of black coffee. Carole merely smiled and resumed with her toast.

Silence presided over breakfast at the Hummel residence. Burt was the first to leave the table, saying he had to sort out some customer's records in his ledgers. The three boys maintained a stony stillness as they ate. Then, Finn accidentally choked on his milk, breaking the silence.

"Slow down, Finn; no-one's going to steal your breakfast," Carole chided mildly, but Finn had already finished his breakfast and sped up to his room. "Why's he acting so strange today?" Carole thought aloud.

"He's fine, Carole," said Kurt, "he has been dying to kill the evil aliens on his new videogame," he added dryly.

"Oh, but still, we have a guest with us. I'm sure that videogame can wait," said Carole.

"Well, you know what they say: boys will be boys," replied Kurt.

"Perhaps you're right. I think it's time to clear the table. Why don't you boys finish up, and then you can watch some TV or talk?" suggested Carole as she began piling the dirty dishes and bringing them to the kitchen. Puck got up to help her.

"Don't worry, Mrs. H. I got it," said Puck as he took the dishes from her.

"Oh, Noah, you don't have to," said Carole.

"Please, Mrs. H. It's a privilege for me," said Puck.

"Alright, then, if you insist. I always knew you'd turn out to be a sweet young man," Carole conceded. Kurt was aghast at Puck. How dare he put on a show like that in his own house? He did not want to look bad either. Something had to be done.

"Noah's right. I think I'll help him, Carole. It's the most we can do to thank you for such a wonderful breakfast," said Kurt, oblivious that he had taken Puck's side.

"Oh, Kurt, really, you two shouldn't, but since you volunteered, thank you. I'm going to watch Desperate Housewives on ABC now. I missed last week's episode. You know, PTA and all that," said Carole as she bounced to the living room. Kurt gathered the rest of the dishes and followed Puck to the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" asked Kurt once he was sure they were out of earshot.

"What?" Puck turned to look at Kurt, giving the smaller boy a plate to dry. He was genuinely confused.

"Don't play dumb with me, Puckerman. I know for a fact that you and Finn aren't really best friends right now, so I'm really curious as to why you're suddenly here, having breakfast with us and being so helpful in the kitchen," retorted Kurt.

"Look, I came because I want to say I'm sorry for what I said to you the other day," Puck said as he turned on the tap to rinse away the foam from a pile of newly-washed cutlery.

"And exactly what was it that you said to me that's making you beg for my forgiveness now?" asked Kurt.

"Shit, you're never going to make it easy for me, are you?"

"The Hell I wouldn't! What you did is beyond unforgivable. I'm definitely going to make this hard for you," declared Kurt was he wiped the last plate dry.

"Then tell me how should I make it up to you," said Puck sincerely.

"Are you up to something here? Usually you won't even bother asking for an apology."

"Damn it, Kurt, will you stop that? Every time I try to be nice to you, you think I have some evil plan behind it."

"Of course I do. Maybe you're tired of tossing me in the dumpsters, shoving me into lockers, tripping me in the hallways and giving me those icky Slushy facials because I'm immune to them, so you had to come up with something new," Kurt stated flatly as if he was reading a paragraph from his History textbook.

"What the Hell?" Puck exclaimed in disbelief.

"Did I just blow your cover?" Kurt asked mockingly.

"Look, first off, I'm really sorry for what I did. I mean it. I swear I'm not planning some rotten prank on you behind your back. I know how it feels like to be abandoned. I understood when you said you needed a place to chill and distract yourself from all the hurt. Trust me, Kurt. I've been through it before, when my dad walked out," said Puck calmly, as if he needed a great deal of effort to utter each word. He noticed that the stiffness around Kurt's shoulders had lessened, but the same could not be said for his air of hostility.

"Does that give you the right to play on my insecurities?" asked Kurt angrily.

"I didn't know, okay?" Puck raised his voice, threatening to fling the saucer he was washing at Kurt. Kurt wisely held back the bitchy retort he had in mind. It was the first time he saw Puck lose his temper. Much to his relief, Puck resumed rinsing the saucer.

They were both silent as Kurt dried the cutleries. He could tell that Puck was being genuine with his apologies, and he was slightly ashamed of himself for being so unforgiving. Clearly, Puck deserved a chance. Kurt had felt a pang of guilt when he recalled Puck saying something about his father walking out on him, and it was this sense of guilt that made him address the taller boy after what seemed like an eternal moment of painful silence.

"Noah," Kurt whispered.

"What is it now?" snapped Puck irritably.

"I'm sorry, too," said Kurt gently and truthfully, causing Puck to turn around and look at him, but his gaze was lowered as if in a gesture of admitting defeat.

"Chill, man, I started this shit," Puck clarified, "I shouldn't have accused you of spying on us in the first place. You didn't have to be sorry," he added humbly.

"I was wrong, too," said Kurt, "For hitting you. I was so angry with you then, my head just snapped, and I had to shut you up," he confessed.

"It was the right thing to do. You just opened my eyes for me to see what a jerk I've been. It's just that, there's so much pressure in the glee club, and…!" Puck was in the middle of justifying himself when Kurt interjected.

"I understand. I felt the same way towards you, Quinn, Santana and Brittany when you all signed up for the first time. I shouldn't have told Finn about our little fight either. He was just so protective of me, playing the role of big brother and all. It was sweet, but…!" this time, Kurt was interrupted by Finn's completely unexpected entry.

"Since when did you two become so friendly?" he asked assertively.

"Finn, I do appreciate you watching over me and all, but seriously, you've got to loosen up a little. Noah and I were just, well, apologising, and we've forgiven each other already. Now that you're here, I think it's also high time for you to put your grudge aside and make peace with Noah," Kurt explained. Finn took a moment to digest all the information. Really, Kurt can be so full of words sometimes. Nevertheless, it did not take long for the two estranged best friends to rekindle their friendship. Kurt smiled as the two boys gave each other the one-armed man-hug.

"So," said Kurt, "did you just receive some sort of vision about our peace treaty, or did you come down for a new bag of chips?" he asked, with an eyebrow cocked quizzically.

"Yeah, that's right. The chips," Finn stammered as he rummaged the dry foodstuffs cabinet for his favourite brand of potato chips before speeding back up to his room, leaving an amused Puck and Kurt to chuckle at his addiction for videogames.

"You sure you don't want to join him?" asked Kurt.

"Mind if I do?" Puck asked, but before Kurt could say anything, he too had sped up the stairs to Finn's room.

XXX

It was four in the evening when Kurt had finished packing his bags, ready to go back to Dalton. He gave Burt and Carole a loving hug each, promising to return home the following weekend. Just as he was about to leave the house, Puck emerged from Finn's room, replete with conquering the evil alien civilisation on Finn's new videogame. Finn was right behind him, the excitement in his eyes still yet to wear off.

"How was the game?" asked Kurt.

"Awesome," exclaimed Finn as he too hugged Kurt before joining Burt and Carole in the living room.

"So, I guess this is goodbye," said Kurt casually to Puck, and the Jewish boy nodded. He volunteered to help Kurt with his bags.

"Thanks for coming today. I mean, I was wrong about you in so many things. I'm glad we sorted out this mess," said Kurt as Puck loaded his bags into the backseat.

"Same here, but honestly, I don't know what brought me here," Puck confessed.

"Still, thank you for coming. I really appreciate it," said Kurt as he hopped onto the driver's seat.

At that moment, Puck did not know what came over him, but as Kurt was about to shut the door, he stopped the smaller boy halfway.

"Kurt, wait!" he stammered.

"Yes, Noah?" asked a surprised Kurt.

"There's something I need to ask you," said Puck. "Is there a Wolfgang Hummel in your family?" he asked, and Kurt's eyes widened in an emotion Puck could not tell.

"How did you know?" Kurt's voice came out in a shocked whisper in a tone Puck thought was similar to his mother's. He got into the car and sat on the front passenger's seat.

"I know it's unbelievable, but my ma told me he rescued my ancestors from the Nazis, and…" Puck stopped. He was speechless. He did not know how else to continue, but Kurt gave him a look that seemed to say "I know what you're talking about".

"Does this mean you're related to someone called Nehemiah?" Kurt asked after a brief silence, and now it was Puck's turn to be shocked.

"Yeah, how did you know?" he asked, still stunned.

"I had a dream about him, but I didn't know who he was until I asked my dad. Apparently he was the love interest of someone in my family who looked just like me," replied Kurt, and Puck backed away in horror. It truly was a bizarre situation. His reaction did not go unnoticed by Kurt.

"Please don't misunderstand me, Noah. It just happened, I…!" he tried to explain, but Puck's answer stunned him into silence.

"I had a dream, too," confessed Puck. "At first, I thought I saw you in it, but then I saw Nehemiah, too," he added. Kurt knuckles turned white as he clutched to the edges of his seat.

"Noah, I'm scared," he admitted, "What's the meaning of all this?" he thought aloud in exasperation.

"I wish I knew," replied an equally beleaguered Puck. His gaze met Kurt's, and he saw fear in them. He simultaneously wished there was a way for him to allay both their fears.

"Do you feel it?" asked Kurt suddenly.

"Feel what?" Puck questioned in return.

"I don't know," replied Kurt, "But I feel like as if I've got to do something about this. I mean, how normal is it for you to suddenly dream of someone you don't know but happens to be connected to you?"

"Yeah, me, too," said Puck.

"So, what must we do?" asked Kurt.

"Look, this whole dream and family secrets thing has been freaking me out, but we can't just drop it. Something's telling me we have to find out more about those two," said Puck, and Kurt nodded in agreement.

"I've got to go back to Dalton, and I won't be back until Saturday. My dad has told me everything he knows about Karl Hummel, but I know there's a lot more that I have to figure out," said Kurt.

"I'll ask my nana about Nehemiah. She might know a few things," added Puck. They were silent again.

"Noah," Kurt was first to break the silence.

"Yeah?" replied Puck.

"When will I see you again?" asked Kurt.

"Next week, maybe," said Puck.

"Promise me we'll stick together to find out what's going on, no matter what," said Kurt.

"Of course," replied Puck, earning a smile from Kurt. "It's getting late," he said when he saw the time on his watch, "You should be heading back to your school now," he added before getting out of the car. Kurt nodded and started the engine.

"Drive safe," said Puck.

"I will," replied Kurt as he pulled out of the driveway.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**I must admit, it was a bit difficult writing this chapter, so do forgive me if it is a bit sketchy. Nevertheless, I really hope to hear your opinions on this chapter, darling readers. I must say this one more time: it is your unending support and encouragement, my darling readers, which keep me going with this story.**


	8. Chapter 8

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**FIRST OF ALL, SORRY FOR THE PROLONGED DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER; I HAD A BAD CASE OF WRITER'S BLOCK FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS, AND TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE, THE INTERNET CONNECTION AT MY PLACE IS PRETTY FAULTY. HOWEVER, I DO HOPE THAT THIS CHAPTER SHOWS THAT THE STORY IS PROGRESSING WELL.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER SEVEN; WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS MY HEARTFELT GRATITUDE FOR YOUR SUPPORT AND PATIENCE. HERE IS A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**AS OF NOW, THE STORY'S CLIMAX IS STILL FAR FROM NEAR. NEVERTHELESS, I AM TRYING MY VERY BEST TO STAY ON THE RIGHT TRACK OF THE STORYLINE.**

**THE SONGS IN THIS CHAPTER ARE **_**NO MORE RHYME **_**BY DEBBIE GIBSON AND **_**LOVE TAKES TIME **_**BY MARIAH CAREY. I DO NOT OWN THESE SONGS EITHER, AND NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED AS WELL. FOR **_**NO MORE RHYME**_**, THE LYRICS IN **_ITALICS _**STAND FOR LAUREN, WHILE THE LYRICS IN **_**BOLD ITALICS **_**STAND FOR QUINN, SANTANA AND BRITTANY SINGING THE BACKUP VOCALS, AND THE LYRICS IN **_**UNDERLINED BOLD ITALICS **_**STAND FOR LAUREN SINGING ALONG WITH THE THREE GIRLS.**

**Chapter Eight: Highs and Lows, Synchronised**

**Puck is relieved that the members of New Directions are finally letting their cold defences down, but his relief is soon followed by heartbreak, whereas Kurt has to decide how he really feels about Blaine and Danny's ongoing romance.**

Puck had been looking forward to glee club practice all day long, and he was glad that the moment had finally come. He never showed any genuine interest in his classes whatsoever, so glee club and football were basically the only reasons he came to school, but glee club meant a lot more to him. It was just about the only thing in school that he put his all into. Then, there was Lauren. In spite of his many notable and worthier conquests, Lauren was the only girl who sent strange signals to his head; she was by far the only girl Puck had genuinely fallen in love with. Their classes were mostly different, so the only time Puck could spend time with Lauren during school hours was glee practice. His heartbeat had quickened along with his pace when the school bell rang to signal that Math class was over. However, as he headed for the choir room, his mind was beset with worry, and he held his horses. He did not want to enter a room thick with the air of hostility. For almost a month, he had to endure angry stares and scornful words from his fellow glee clubbers for something he did purely out of concern for the very institution that held them all together. If truth be told, he was tired of being stereotyped as the heartless villain in the form of a restless delinquent. Although there had been times when he had received praise for his choice of songs and command of music and sometimes even his dance steps, he never felt like belonging wholly to the glee club. He doubted today would be any different.

"Hey, Puck, wait up!" Artie's voice vibrated through the hallways. Puck turned around to face the bespectacled boy steering his wheelchair towards him. He looked slightly downcast, as if he had been embarrassed at seeing something horrendously obscene.

"Hey, Artie, what's up?" replied Puck dully.

"I just wanted to know how much do I owe you in terms of medical fees," said Artie.

"Excuse me?" was a confused Puck's response.

"Last month, I rammed into your foot, and I remember hearing this crunching sound, followed by you swearing under your breath. Of course, at that time, I was pretty mad at you for what you did to Kurt, so my intention was to cause as much physical harm as possible on you, but now when I look back at it, I felt it wasn't worth it, and along with the fees, I owe you a heartfelt apology," said a humbled Artie.

"You know, I don't have to guess around to figure out you're a whiz kid, but next time, try to make your sentences shorter, because you talk way too much till my brain can't process what is it exactly you want to tell me," scoffed Puck in mock annoyance as he pretended to soothe a persistent headache by rubbing at his temples.

"O-okay," replied Artie, unsure of what to say next.

"By the way, nothing's wrong with my foot. Your wheelchair can't beat Puckzilla," joked Puck, and the two boys laughed as Puck helped wheel Artie to the choir room. "Besides, you said you owe me something else aside from the medical fees, but I can't remember what it is, and since there are no medical fees involved, I'd like to know what you owe me," he added as an afterthought.

Artie was aware of Puck's little act, but he was willing to make allowances. He, along with the others, had been too hard on Puck. Before he could apologise another time, Rachel had arrived and was walking with the two boys to the choir room.

"Am I glad to see you today, Noah!" exclaimed the co-captain of their glee club.

"Are you here to check out my guns?" asked Puck rhetorically as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to flex his biceps in front of Rachel.

"No, of course not; I mean, you're physically impressive, but there's something else I need to tell you," replied Rachel.

"Yeah?" asked Puck again, but Rachel did not say a word until they reached the choir room.

When they entered, the entire glee club, excluding Brad the pianist and Mr. Schue, were already there. They all stood to gather around Puck the moment they saw him. All of them bore the same look as Artie's when he first spoke to Puck after Math class. They remained silent. Rachel was the first to speak up.

"Last night, we all received a text message from Kurt. He mentioned that there's no more enmity between you and him, and Finn told us that you're friends again. Speaking of which, we would all like to apologise to you, Noah. We all agree that we've been excruciatingly hard on you during the past month, and we all admit that our anger towards you was quite irrational. Therefore, we're sorry for all the pain we've caused you, Noah, because this isn't what glee club's supposed to be. We should be like a family, and we've let you down miserably by violently turning against you," and having said that, Rachel gave him a hug. She was so short that Puck had to actually bend down in order to reciprocate her gesture. The rest of New Directions followed suit in conveying their sincerest apologies to Puck, even Mercedes.

"I'm sorry about that message I sent you. It just wasn't me, but I was so mad, and…!" Mercedes was shushed by Puck before she could finish.

"We all have our breaking points. I understand how you felt. I would've done the same thing to anyone who'd hurt my sister. At times like these, we can't control ourselves, and we all end up showing the worst in us. Let's just forget it and move on," said Puck as he gave Mercedes a light hug. When everyone had settled down comfortably, Puck could not help but smile. Glee club was finally the bright spot of his schooldays again. He had never felt so relieved and happy in such a long time.

However, there was a single blotch on Puck's shiny day. It was Lauren. He thought he felt a wide chasm form between himself and his girl when they hugged not too long ago. It was as if she wanted to have nothing to do with him. As they sat side by side, Puck tried to figure out what was bothering her. Was it something he did? Was she in one of those ladies' mood swings? He had to know. They were in love, after all.

"You okay?" he eventually asked.

"Yeah," she muttered, "I just don't feel like talking today," she added.

"Is there something wrong?" asked Puck again.

"Puck, in what other way should I express my reluctance to engage myself in a conversation with you or anybody else today?" she snapped irritably.

"Okay, fine, I'll let you be," Puck snapped back, annoyed and confused.

Mr. Schue arrived ten minutes late, apparently due to an urgent meeting with Principal Figgins. Nevertheless, he remained enthusiastic as ever, as he handed out music sheets to the class. Puck looked at his music sheets and cheered up a little. It may not be his favourite song, but it was a good selection by Mr. Schue nonetheless. Just then, Lauren spoke up.

"Mr. Schue," she called out, and the curly-haired teacher turned around and looked up at her.

"Yes, Lauren?" he replied.

"I've been practising on a song that I'd like to share with New Directions today. May I?" she asked, and Mr. Schue's smile widened. It was always a pleasure to see students showcasing their talents voluntarily.

"Well, then, let's hear it. Give it up for Lauren, guys!" said Mr. Schue, and they all clapped as Lauren made it to the microphone. She handed the music sheets over to Brad and adjusted the microphone to her height.

"So, I would like to sing this song for Puck," she stammered, earning a lovey-dovey sigh from Rachel and the boys, "I hope you'll understand what I mean," she continued, this time to Puck, and he looked even more confused. What was she doing? "Quinn, Santana and Britt are going to help me," she added, and the three girls, as if on cue, sprang from their seats and took their positions next to Lauren, sharing a microphone together. She nodded her head at Brad, and he began to play the piano. A tear slid down her cheek as she sang.

_When the fear sets in, where the fire burns_

_Where I find a place, where there's nowhere to turn_

_When the evening sings an eerie song (__**song**__)_

_Longing for the day you say I'm wrong_

_You can find your place, but never fit in_

_And only when you've left, do you know where you've been_

_I can see the light, but only when it's gone_

_You can go on waiting, but only for so long (__**so long**__ (Brittany)__**…so long **__(Santana)__**…so long **__(Quinn))_

_I know we are right, it's not always clear (__**it's not clear**__)_

_Because I've never felt the fear_

_Can it stay so good, forever in time?_

_I've always felt the rhythm; what happens when there's no more rhyme?_

_Can we face ourselves, like we face each other?_

_We've never felt anything on our own_

_I can't wait much longer __**to feel any danger**__; I hope we're not living for a lifetime alone_

_I know we are right, it's not always clear (__**it's not clear**__)_

_Because I've never felt the fear_

_Can it stay so good, forever in time?_

_I've always felt the rhythm; what happens when there's no more rhyme?_

_**How to go on**__? It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop; I'll never stop believing in you_

_It's just we've never had to struggle; it all came too easy_

_I hope we felt what we felt from the start_

_We've never suffered a broken heart_

_We've been so blinded by all the best_

_We've never put our love to the test (__**to the test**__)_

_I've always felt the rhythm; what happens when there's no more rhyme?_

_**No more rhyme…**_

Mr. Schue, along with the other members of New Directions, gave Lauren and her backup vocals their customary applause and settled down again.

"Good job, Lauren," cheered Mr. Schue. He was surprised that she could deliver a power ballad with such gusto and emotion.

Lauren, for her part, returned to her grouchy self when she sat down. When her gaze met Puck's, she turned away from him and kept her head down.

"Hey, you did great out there," whispered Puck sincerely in such a soothing voice that almost made Lauren cry. At the same time, she stared at him in disbelief. Did he not listen to the lyrics? Was he really that dumb after all? He should sense something wrong, at the very least. When he finally did, the glow of his face faded a little, and it broke Lauren's heart. How was she to convey this dreadful piece of news to him? "What's the matter, babe?" Puck asked. He had felt the distance growing between them.

"It's nothing, Puck. Just leave me alone, will you?" she begged.

"No, I won't, until you tell me what's bothering you," he insisted, and Lauren lost her cool.

"I'm breaking up with you, okay?" she replied, so loudly that all of New Directions turned their heads to look at them. Nobody knew how to react or even what to say. Puck was speechless, too.

"What? Why?" Puck, stunned by Lauren's answer, was dumbstruck even when he found his voice. Why did she suddenly find him so repulsive? The coldness of her tone and the very words that escaped her lips shot at him like a quiver of icicles.

"I can't do this anymore," choked Lauren as she wiped her tears furiously.

"Do what?" asked Puck.

"This," replied Lauren, waving her hands impatiently. "I can't be with you anymore," she clarified.

"But why?" asked Puck.

"This is a small town. People talk, and news travel fast. My uncle saw us together and told my mom. I don't know how he knew about you, but he told my mom a lot about you, all the bad parts, in fact. Right now, she hates your guts and forbids us to see each other. She said we must stop this for good if I don't want to see her dead," replied Lauren in a cautious tone. Puck's look of despair darkened considerably, and he was angry now.

"Are you done?" he asked. The hurt was clear in his voice.

"I think so, yeah," stammered Lauren.

"Shit, Lauren," Puck swore under his breath.

"We have to do this. My mom is threatening me with her own life. She's had two heart attacks before, Puck. I don't think she can take it another time, and neither can I," Lauren continued. Puck buried his face in his hands.

"I'm going to break his face," Puck growled, and it frightened her.

"My uncle, you mean? Do you honestly think you're going to make a better impression of yourself by laying your hands on my uncle?"

"I don't know, okay?" he sighed in frustration as he buried his face in his hands again. When he felt Lauren's hand on his shoulder, he lifted his head to face her. Her touch was at once comforting and searing.

"You'll always be the first boy to sweep me off my feet and make me feel special in ways I could never have imagined, but it has to end here. You'll find the right person someday, and so will I. It was great while it lasted, and I treasure every moment of it, but it just wasn't meant to be," said Lauren through a blur of fresh tears.

"So, are you quitting glee club?" asked Puck.

"No and neither should you. Glee club means a lot to the both of us, and it won't be good if one of us pulls out only because we can't see each other. Since I'm not allowed to speak to you, I suggest it's better for you to sit far away from me. Let's just forget that we ever had anything between us," replied Lauren, still wiping her tears away when she turned away from Puck's gaze. She was afraid to see the anger on his face. If he had been some stranger she met on the streets, she would have run away from him.

"I can't believe you're destroying what we have just like that," snarled Puck as he stormed out of the choir room, leaving a hapless Lauren sobbing copiously. He did not care to hear her whisper a heartfelt "I'm so sorry". It was just too painful.

XXX

It had been three weeks since Kurt and Danny became regular study partners for their Prose and Poetry class, and since literature also involves a consistent flow of ideas and varying interpretations, they have invited more or less the whole class to join them in their discussions. However, the literature students' table was empty today, except for Kurt. He always came to the study hall an hour before the scheduled discussion so he could occupy and subsequently reserve the biggest table available. It was already seven-twenty, another forty minutes to go. He was reading his copy of Jean Rhys' "Wide Sargasso Sea" when Danny appeared from the magazine racks, clutching to an issue of GQ.

"Hey, Kurt," he greeted.

"Hey, Danny," Kurt greeted back, "How's Blaine?" he added.

"Uh, he's got lots of work. Physics lab reports and whatnot, so he's back at his dorm, racking his brains out. Other than that, he's fine," replied Danny as he took his seat.

"Oh," replied Kurt, and the two boys sat stoically silent for a good five minutes as they leafed through their respective books. Danny was a very attentive study partner, and if their teacher's explanations could not help him understand the literary texts better, Kurt's guidance could, because the latter was always laced with hints of encouragement in addition to elaborations and interpretations that proved a whole lot more comprehensive. Besides, Danny had worked extra hard to do well in Prose and Poetry. Kurt, for his part, was proud of Danny. In a good study partner, he had found himself a good friend as well. Initially, Kurt saw in Danny Blaine's perfect other half, which he would never be, and pangs of jealousy and hurt would often blur his thoughts. However, over the weeks, they got to know each other better, and soon enough, Kurt began to feel happy for Blaine as well. The chronology of events that led to Blaine and Danny's relationship was playing in Kurt's mind like a movie trailer when Danny broke the silence between them.

"Uh, Kurt," he suddenly stammered.

"Yeah?" asked Kurt as he made a small fold at the edge of the page where he stopped reading.

"Are you still in love with Blaine?" Danny asked, almost shyly, causing Kurt to blush.

"How come you're suddenly asking me this?" asked a confused Kurt in return.

"Just curious, because you're his ex and all that," replied Danny rather uneasily. Kurt did not know what to say. Danny's question and reason for asking were at once shocking and inappropriate. _How would you react if I said I still have feelings for Blaine? _It was the first thing that came to his mind regarding what to say next, but for Blaine's sake, he decided against it. He did not want to risk losing Danny's friendship and subsequently, Blaine's. In spite of how well everyone was moving on, certain matters, Kurt and Blaine's past romance included, remained too fragile to be raised. Yet here Danny was, bringing it up out of the blue. He had to be extremely careful in answering Danny's question.

"Well, all I can tell is," Kurt struggled to find the right things to say, even if it meant lying to Danny. He was, after all, thrust into a difficult situation, and some truths are always better left hidden than revealed for everybody's own respective good, "Blaine was by far the only person who made me rediscover my true worth. Before I met him, I thought everyone saw me as the resident fag of a small-town public high school, but Blaine had opened my eyes and shown me that I'm one of a kind. I've never felt so loved and significant before. We've had our precious moments together, and I cherish each and every one of them, but it's unfortunate because Blaine and I aren't destined to be together, not because we're poles apart, but because we're so alike. Blaine needs a man, and so do I. I didn't really find the man of my dreams in Blaine, and he most certainly didn't find one in me. You, on the other hand, made him complete in ways that I'm incapable of, and for that, I'm truly happy for the both of you," he confessed.

"You haven't answered my question yet. Are you still in love with Blaine?" repeated Danny, this time looking deep into Kurt's eyes. If truth be told, Kurt was starting to feel a little frightened. Why was Danny feeling so insecure?

"Look, Danny, you don't have to worry about me hovering around you and Blaine. I may occasionally ask about Blaine, and I promise you it's all because I'm genuinely concerned for him as a friend. I always ask after my friends. I know it's hard for you, since you and Blaine became an item right after he and I broke up, but, like I said, you have nothing to worry about. I'm moving on smoothly, and sometimes it's nice to be alone. So, in answer to your question, I no longer have any romantic feelings for Blaine. We're just friends," said Kurt with a forced smile, but the tension on Danny's face receded nonetheless.

"Thanks, Kurt," replied Danny with a nervous chuckle, "I'm sorry if I scared you just now," he added, earning a shake of the head from Kurt that read "no worries". "So, are you seeing anybody now?" he asked.

"If by seeing, you mean dating, I haven't met Mr. Right yet," replied Kurt. "Besides, don't you think you're prying a little too much now?" he continued, cocking one of his eyebrows.

"Sorry, but I do hope you find him someday," said Danny.

"Same here," replied Kurt dreamily, and they both laughed. It was already five minutes to eight, and Kurt could see from the entrance of the study hall that their classmates from Prose and Poetry are coming. Without any further ado, Kurt and Danny opened their notebooks, prepared to discuss Rhys and her portrayal of gender discrimination in her landmark novel. It was going to be a long night for them.

Two hours later, when he was alone in his room, Kurt sank onto the soft mattress of his bed, tired from all the brainstorming. Not knowing how else to relax his mind, he scrolled through the photo gallery on his phone. His eyes caught sight of the pictures he had taken with Blaine during the course of their ill-fated romance, and tears immediately began to well in his eyes. It had been months since they broke up, and Kurt missed him terribly. At the same time, he was happy for Blaine and Danny, but deep down, his joy was not genuine. He was still heartbroken and lonely, yet what could he do? Kurt desperately needed a man, but he doubted he would ever find someone as special as Blaine. How much longer must he suffer living life alone?

As he cried himself to sleep, a song came to his mind. Even though it did not entirely sum up how he felt, he had the urge to just mouth the lyrics, hoping that he would find some solace as he empathised with the persona's heartache.

_I had it all, but I let it slip away_

_Couldn't see I treated you wrong_

_Now I wonder around feeling down and cold_

_Trying to believe that you're gone_

_Love takes time to heal when you're hurting so much_

_Couldn't see that I was blind to let you go_

_I can't escape the pain inside because love takes time_

_And I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here alone_

_Losing my mind from this hollow in my heart_

_Suddenly I'm so incomplete_

_Lord, I'm needing you now; tell me how to stop the rain?_

_Tears are falling down endlessly_

_Love takes time to heal when you're hurting so much_

_Couldn't see that I was blind to let you go_

_I can't escape the pain inside because love takes time_

_And I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here alone_

_You might say that it's over_

_You might say that you don't care_

_Oh, you might say you don't miss me, you don't need me_

_But I know that you do and I feel that you do inside_

_Oh, love takes time to heal when you're hurting so much_

_Couldn't see that I was so blind to let you go_

_I can't escape the pain inside because love takes time_

_And I don't want to be there, I don't want to be there alone…_

As he slowly drifted to sleep, Kurt came to terms with the fact that he might never stand a chance to have Blaine running back to him, but at least he had the memories of their love to keep him company. Furthermore, he was not sure if he would be truly happy if Blaine would suddenly want to be with him again, because he had decided and confirmed that he was not ready to be in another relationship, be it new or rekindled. Perhaps, he thought to himself, love does take time to heal.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

…**or should I not? Honestly, darling readers, this chapter was VERY difficult to write. In fact, Puck and Lauren's breakup is actually based on a scene from a Bollywood film that I saw not too long ago! However, I am still looking forward to your reviews and comments. At one point, I even considered quitting this story due to writer's block, but your encouragement and patience, darling readers, kept me going till the end. I am pleased to announce that work on chapter nine has already begun, but writing it will be an equally arduous challenge. Please do not hesitate to review and comment on this chapter, for it is your support and encouragement, darling readers, that contribute to the progress of this beautiful story.**


	9. Chapter 9

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**FIRST OF ALL, I WOULD LIKE TO CONVEY A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE EXTENDED DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER. I AM STILL UNDER A BAD CASE OF WRITER'S BLOCK, BUT I AM DETERMINED TO CONTINUE THIS STORY, SO, PLEASE READ ON, DARLING READERS…**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER EIGHT; I WILL NEVER FORGET YOUR UNDYING SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT. HERE IS ANOTHER CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**Chapter Nine: Salmon in summer**

**Kurt and Puck learn that Burt is keeping a secret and they follow him to find out what he is hiding. **

Kurt woke up unusually early in his basement. He checked the time on his alarm clock. It was six-thirty. He often allowed himself an extra hour or two of sleep on weekends, but his eyes were wide open today, and he was eager to get out of bed after an uncomfortable attempt to resume his slumber by futile tossing and turning. So, with the idea of extra sleep completely eradicated from his mind, he rose and went to the bathroom. When he was done with his lengthy morning skincare routine, Kurt thought it best to freshen up with a long, hot shower.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he heard voices coming from the living room, and he was momentarily surprised. He thought he was the only one up at such a time of day. He crept out of his basement to find his father in conversation with Carole. Looking at the huge knapsack hoisted over Burt's shoulders, it dawned upon Kurt that it was that time of year again, when Burt would join some old friends for the weekend fishing at the river out of town. However, Kurt could not help but sense something unusual about his father's plans. Normally, Burt would go out fishing in fall, not in the final days of summer. It seemed a little off-schedule. Nevertheless, he kept his peace and smiled at him.

"Hey, buddy," greeted Burt when he saw Kurt.

"Hey, dad," Kurt greeted back, "Are you headed off to Hog Creek for salmon?" he asked rhetorically.

"Yup," replied Burt, and turning to Carole, he added, "I won't be back till seven."

"Take care, honey," said Carole as she gave her husband a light peck on the lips.

"Hey, Kurt, take care of Carole for me," said Burt with a chuckle as he kissed him on the forehead.

"Will do, dad," replied Kurt.

"Don't forget to bring back something for me to cook," joked Carole, resulting in a laugh from Burt before he left the house. "I know of this recipe I can use with fresh salmon. It was a hit back when my mom used to host her Christmas lunches," she added to Kurt.

"Sounds good," replied Kurt as he entered the kitchen to boil a kettle of water.

"Kurt, are you alright, honey?" Carole asked suddenly.

"I guess," replied a confused Kurt.

"I don't mean to pry, sweetie, but you seem a little shaken by some recent turn of events. Finn told me Blaine's no longer with you, and then you and Noah weren't speaking to each other for a while, so I'm a little concerned," she explained.

"Oh, that," said Kurt rather reluctantly. Deep in his mind, he was thinking of a thousand ways to teach Finn a lesson. He was, at this point, quite annoyed by his stepbrother's habit of blabbing his personal problems to others as a means of garnering support for him, noble though it was.

"I know how it feels to lose a loved one. When Finn's dad died, I felt as if a part of me had died along with him. Before I met Burt, Finn was my only ray of life. He was the only reason that kept me going. Then, along came Burt and you, and suddenly, my whole life seemed complete. I couldn't be happier," said Carole. Kurt smiled back at her in response as he handed her a mug of hot black coffee sweetened with two teaspoons of sugar, just the way she liked it.

"In a way, I was glad that Blaine broke up with me," said Kurt directly. "I can't imagine all the misunderstandings that would arise if we continue to be with each other. Besides, I have bigger things to worry about at the moment," he added as he took a sip of steaming English breakfast tea.

"You mean the nightmares?" asked Carole, and Kurt's eyes widened with surprise. "Your dad told me," she continued, giving him a look that Kurt could not decipher. It was definitely not one of pity, but it bordered in between concern and suspicion. He did not know exactly how to return that sort of look.

"Partly," Kurt admitted when he found his voice. "It's scary, because even after dad told me everything he knew about Karl, I still can't get it out of my head. Plus, there's Nationals to think of. It's unbelievable that the Warblers are still pitted against New Directions. Once again, my loyalty is put to the test, Carole," he confessed.

"Kurt, honey, you're already in Dalton, and you're part of the Warblers. True, you must now invest your talents for the Warblers, but it's not wrong for you to harbour your true feelings for New Directions. Of course you're not allowed to share the Warblers' strategies and whatnot with New Directions, but you can always support them, in times both good and bad. You don't have to put your loyalty to question," said Carole as she offered Kurt a much-needed hug.

"Thanks, Carole," whispered Kurt.

"Not at all," replied Carole as they both resumed with their breakfast. Finn was still asleep, and it would most probably be hours before he would wake up. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Who could that be?" Carole wondered aloud as she got up to answer the door. It was Puck. Kurt was surprised he did not hear the Jewish boy's truck pull into their driveway. Nevertheless, he was glad that Puck had come as promised. Although Burt told him little about Karl Hummel in the past week, he was hoping that Puck's grandmother had passed down some trove of information about Nehemiah Wexler to him.

"Morning, Mrs. H," he greeted politely, "Kurt in?"

"Of course, do come in, Noah. You came at just about the right time. We're having breakfast," said Carole.

"Yum," Puck commented appreciatively as he buried his hands in his pockets.

"Care to join us?" asked Carole.

"How can I ever refuse your offer, Carole?" Puck crooned in reply, and Carole blushingly brushed him off with a laugh.

"Oh, Noah, you're such a ladies' man," she replied, causing an unexpected grin to curl around Kurt's lips as he nursed his morning cuppa. He could not understand what came over him. He thought the term "ladies' man" made Puck sound charming all of a sudden. Somehow he did not see Puck as the resident badass, but only for a moment. Sensing that Puck was about to enter the kitchen, he cleared his throat softly and bit into a ginger-nut biscuit.

"Hey," Puck greeted Kurt as he dragged a dining chair to sit on. Meanwhile, Carole signalled Kurt with a look that read "I'll leave you two alone", to which he gave a nod.

"Hey," Kurt greeted back. "Shall I fix you some toast?" he offered.

"Um, no need, thanks. The cookies look good enough," declined Puck.

"Would you like tea or coffee?" Kurt continued.

"Coffee sounds good."

"So, should I keep it black with sugar, or do you want some creamer to go with it?"

"Seriously, Kurt, I'm not a kid anymore. I can make my own coffee," said Puck.

"Well, I happen to be your host. So it's my privilege to serve you. Now, do you want your coffee black or white?"

"Fine, just pass me the creamer," replied Puck.

"Fair enough," said Kurt, handing Puck a mug of steaming black coffee and a little matching jug of creamer. He shook his head fondly as he watched Puck fix his own coffee. In spite of him being seventeen and able to make his own breakfast, his actions seemed somewhat childishly amusing to Kurt.

"So, how's life?" asked Puck as he reached out for a rock cake.

"Well, it's the same old, same old. And yours?" asked Kurt in reply as he brought the plate of biscuits closer to Puck, to which the Jewish boy merely chuckled sardonically.

"Life's been just great," he remarked. "So, I see your dad's gone out," he continued, not wanting to dwell on the subject of his current goings-on for too long.

"Yeah, he's gone out fishing at Hog Creek, for salmon," said Kurt.

"Are you kidding?" Puck snorted in disbelief.

"What's wrong?" asked Kurt, a bit defensively, as if he was asking: _Yeah, so my dad goes out fishing with his friends; does that make him less tough to you?_

"We're in the middle of summer, man. You can't find salmon in Hog Creek now. My dad used to take me out fishing with him when I was a kid, and he'd get salmon only in spring," replied Puck.

"Oh?" Kurt wondered aloud, having put his defensive edge aside.

"Apparently they migrate to the river from the sea only in spring to breed. Other than that, you don't see them much, unless your dad's headed off to some lake or to the seashore," added Puck.

"I don't get it. My dad goes fishing every year around this time, but I have to admit, I sensed something weird going on," said Kurt.

"Look, maybe your dad wasn't really looking for salmon. Maybe he said it wrong," suggested Puck.

"Probably, because my dad usually gets invited to go fishing in fall, but summer hasn't even ended yet," replied Kurt.

"Do you think he's up to something?" asked Puck.

"What do you mean?" asked an equally baffled Kurt.

"I mean is it possible that he's been hiding something from you all these years?" affirmed Puck.

"You know, it's funny, because every time in fall, my dad would say he'll be out fishing for salmon. Then, he'd come home either empty-handed or with some other fish. It was never salmon, and when I asked him why he never brought any salmon home, he'd just laugh it off and say he's a lousy angler and the salmon always knew how to outsmart him in his own game," explained Kurt.

"Sounds pretty much rehearsed to me," commented Puck.

"He says it every year without fail, and as you pointed out, it does sound as if he has been using it as some kind of excuse to cover something up all this while," added Kurt, "But what's he trying to cover up?"

"If you ask me, there's only one way to find out," said Puck.

"And what would that be?" asked Kurt.

"We'll have to track him down," replied Puck.

"Okay, now that's a little overboard, don't you think? I do agree that he does act a little suspicious at this time of the year, but he's my dad. I can't go around spying on him like he's some sort of psychopathic criminal on the loose. It's just something that sons don't do to their fathers," said Kurt. He noticed Puck's gaze dropping awkwardly, and he realised that perhaps he was a bit harsh, probably him mentioning something about fathers and sons that hit Puck home. "I'm sorry," he concluded.

"No, don't be," Puck stammered, "It's just that I used to follow my dad when I found out where he was staying, after he walked out. Then, one day, I told my ma about him, that I've been following him, and she started nagging at me, telling me never to do that again because he's never coming back. I thought I was doing her a favour, looking out for him," he continued, letting out a mirthless, bitter laugh at the memory.

"Still, I'm sorry," replied Kurt, "What I did was selfish. I shouldn't have gone out of line with my words, knowing what you've been through with your dad," he justified.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. You don't have to take my advice, by the way. He's your dad, after all. I'm sure you trust him enough to believe he'd never hide anything from you," said Puck.

"No, you were right. Something tells me he has been doing something else instead of fishing in fall all this time, and I have a feeling it's connected to me. I need to know the truth, and I've made up my mind. I'd do anything to figure this out, even if this means following him behind his back," replied Kurt.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Puck, "You know, I shouldn't have brought this up in the first place," he added, fearing for Kurt's safety.

"I'm seventeen years old. It's my dad who shouldn't be keeping secrets from me like I'm a gullible child," said Kurt.

"So, what are you going to do?" asked Puck rhetorically.

"I'm going to find out what he's been doing once and for all," replied Kurt as he got up to grab his car keys hanging on the kitchen wall. He paused for a moment, wondering if following Burt with his own car was strategic at all, and then decided against it. "Mind if I use your truck?" he asked, turning to Puck.

"Sure, but I don't think it's going to work, because she makes a lot of noise. Your dad might get suspicious," said Puck.

"So, you're suggesting that I use my navigator to track him down?"

"Duh, of course; I mean you can just sneak around behind his back without making a sound driving that baby of yours. Besides, you're not the only person in Lima who owns a black Lincoln Navigator."

"You're right," Kurt conceded, getting up for his car keys again before hesitating again. "If we get too close, he might know it's us, just by reading my license plate," he contradicted.

"Good point," Puck noted glumly, and then his face brightened all of a sudden. "How about we borrow someone else's car?"

"Great idea, but whose?" asked Kurt.

"Someone who trusts you well," suggested Puck, "like Mercedes."

"Nope, my dad recognises her car," said Kurt.

"Sam?" Puck tried again.

"Seriously, Puck, I don't want to trouble Sam right now. His dad just got laid off, remember?" reminded Kurt, and the Jewish boy sank back onto his chair until another name came to him, prompting him to make a last-ditch effort.

"Quinn?"

"Bingo," answered Kurt, much to his delight. He immediately dialled Quinn's number on his cell, hoping that the blonde girl was already awake to answer his call. As he expected, she was. Their conversation was peppered by Kurt's expert lying and Quinn's amusing naïveté. Nevertheless, he succeeded in borrowing her much-needed Pontiac.

"You might want to wear something mysterious, for a change," suggested Puck when Kurt was about to leave house.

"I think I can handle that," he replied with a sly grin on his face before bouncing into his basement. He reappeared in an all-black ensemble, consisting of a turtleneck tank top by Ralph Lauren, a pair of skinny jeans by Armani, a pair of suede brogues by Allen Edmonds, a silk waistcoat by Marc Jacobs and a printed muslin cravat by Alexander McQueen, complete with a beret by Mr. Song.

Puck was out of breath when he saw Kurt, partly because he had expected Kurt to remain in his basement selecting the right outfit for the next hour or so, but here he was, dressed up all prim and proper after a mere ten minutes. "You look fantastic," was all he could say.

"I look good, don't I?" said Kurt a little too vainly as he posed for himself in front of the living room mirror.

"Whatever, princess," teased Puck, only to earn a smack on the arm from the male diva.

"Watch it," warned Kurt, "Quinn's coming in five minutes. You might want to hide your truck somewhere. I volunteer my dad's workshop," he announced, still maintaining his foreboding tone.

"Okay," Puck replied, scurrying to park his truck in the garage. He was barely seconds to the door when he saw Quinn's silver Pontiac pulling into Kurt's driveway. Seeing him, the blonde girl's eyes widened quizzically.

"Puck?" she called his name as she closed the door shut.

"Hey, you," Puck stammered, "I was sending my truck to Mr. Hummel. She's got some problems, so I thought maybe Kurt's dad could check her out," he lied.

"Oh," was all Quinn could muster. "Where's Kurt?" she was about to ask, when the male diva flung open his doors to greet her.

"Quinn, darling," Kurt smiled warmly at her, drawing her into a hug. Puck, through eye contact, thanked him for coming to his rescue. Kurt replied in the same way, telling him to go inside and continue pretending that they both just happened to have car troubles today.

"You're looking fabulous today," Quinn commented on Kurt's outfit. "What gives?"

"Oh, nothing; just for fun," replied Kurt nonchalantly.

"So, take care of my Pontiac," said Quinn as she passed Kurt her car keys before ringing up her mother, who just so happened to be visiting a friend across the street.

"I will, don't worry," reassured Kurt.

"And please, stock up on your fuel before you reach home," she added as an afterthought before entering her mother's car, since his excuse for borrowing her car was that his navigator had run out of fuel, and he happened to have some important errands today.

"Thanks for the advice; you're very generous," said Kurt. When he was sure that Quinn and her mother were out of sight, he unlocked her car.

"Mind if I come with you?" Puck asked suddenly. He did not know what came over him, but somehow he felt he was being prodded to follow Kurt. Kurt, for his part, eyed him with doubt.

"Don't you want to hang out with Finn? He should be up in a bit by now," said Kurt as he put on his Dior sunglasses.

Puck remained dumbstruck for a while. He did not know what kind of answer he should offer to Kurt. After all, spending the Sunday playing videogames with Finn sounded way more fun than accompanying the town's resident dandy on the prowl. Nevertheless, an instinct egged him on, as if trying to tell him that he would find answers of his own by coming with Kurt. Still, he had to come up with something valid, because he was aware that Kurt, in spite of his eccentricities, was a no-nonsense person quick to suspecting others as a means of self-defence. "I was just thinking it might be a bit dangerous for you to travel all by yourself," he finally said, expecting a disbelieving tirade of sorts from Kurt. Much to his surprise, the male diva thought otherwise.

"I guess I do need someone to look out for me," he said pensively. "Come along, then, but please don't change your mind in the middle of the road, which is why I want to ask you now: videogames with Finn or spying on my dad with me?"

"I think Finn can wait. This sounds way more important," replied Puck a little too impulsively.

"You seem really excited about this," said Kurt as he scribbled a quick note to Carole and left it on the kitchen table.

"Uh, well, you see, it's just out of concern, honestly," Puck stammered, but Kurt believed him nonetheless, much to his relief.

"This will be really difficult," said Kurt as they both hopped into Quinn's Pontiac.

"Why?" asked Puck, fastening his seatbelt.

"My dad left the house two hours ago. It'd be impossible to follow him now," replied Kurt before pulling out of the driveway.

When they were on the road, Puck pondered on what Kurt just said and he could not help but agree with him. If Burt was truly heading to Hog Creek, they have surely lost him by now. It was then that he noticed the car was running out of fuel. "Dude, her tank's empty," he said.

"And she had the cheek to give me that piece of advice," grumbled Kurt as he switched lanes, heading to the petrol station instead. Just as he was about to give up on a wild goose chase after his father, Kurt, along with Puck, spotted Burt at the petrol station, pumping air into a deflated tyre.

"Well, well, what do you know?" Puck whispered as soon as Kurt parked at a kiosk that was well out of Burt's view, but not too far away.

"It's him," said Kurt. Luckily for them, they were not in a self-service petrol station, so all Kurt had to do was tell the attendant the type of fuel he needed, and how much, without having to get off the car. When he had paid the attendant, they drove to a secluded angle and observed Burt.

"Look, he's pulling off," said Puck when they both saw Burt entering his SUV after settling his payments, and Kurt started the engine the moment Burt drove away.

"Thank God the traffic's a bit heavy today. That way, he can't see us, but we've got to stick on the lane so we don't lose him," said Kurt as they stopped at a red light. Even as the light turned green, Burt was simply unaware that his son was following him from a lane away. "Keep an eye on him," he added to Puck.

Puck did as he was told without answering. They continued driving until they reached the highway. "We're heading to Findlay," he commented.

"That's way out in Hancock County," said Kurt, "Unless my dad's fishing at the Blanchard River".

"Why would your dad want to go out this far to fish? Besides, judging from experience, Hog Creek is not so crowded. Right now, I no longer think your dad's out to fish," said Puck rather frankly.

"You have a point," Kurt admitted. An awkward silence presided over the hour-long ride to Findlay. As they entered the outskirts of the city, Kurt noticed that his father's destination was somewhat secluded, for he was not heading into the city proper. "I wonder where he's going," he wondered aloud.

By now, it was difficult for Kurt to blend in with the surroundings, because the traffic was thinner, but he had an added advantage; the surrounding areas were slightly wooded, so all he had to do was park the Pontiac at a shaded roadside and watch his father from a safe distance.

"Uh, can I go out?" Puck suddenly asked.

"Why?" Kurt asked back, hoarsely. He was frowning deeply.

"I want to pee," Puck answered, his voice trembling quite desperately, but Kurt shot him a deadly glare.

"You are not to leave the car until we're done with this," scolded Kurt, but upon noticing Puck's fidgeting, he realised that it was better for Puck to answer Nature's call now or never at all, and never at all would probably result in Puck urinating in Quinn's Pontiac, no matter how hard he tries to hold his bladder. "Fine, I don't want to answer for you wetting Quinn's passenger seat, and I don't want to be held responsible over your risks of getting a urinary tract infection. Just make it snappy, and please hide yourself before my dad sees you," he said brusquely as he tried to park near some bushes, where Puck could not be seen.

Puck returned three minutes later, looking much more relaxed. "Thanks, man," he said to Kurt.

"Just so you know, we've wasted too much precious time for the sake of you emptying your bladder. I told you to make it snappy," replied Kurt in the same hoarse manner.

"Hey, shit like this happens, okay?" Puck defended.

"Fine, I don't want to argue any further with you. We'll end up wasting even more time," said Kurt as he started the engine. He dreaded losing Burt after the short break, but it did not take him and Puck long to relocate Burt, and when they did, he was still close enough for them to follow undetected.

When Burt came to a junction, Kurt made for his hiding place under the trees. Wherever Burt was about to go, it did not look like anywhere near a river. Kurt inched a little closer, until a building came into his view. It looked rather picturesque and peaceful, but Kurt still could not determine where his father was heading to.

Kurt continued to lie in wait as Burt continued driving at a slower pace. When he temporarily disappeared from view, Kurt restarted the engine and skulked behind him. At long last, they have arrived at Burt's destination. The building bore the sign "St. Joseph's Retirement Home". They were greeted by a spacious compound lined with well-manicured trees and hedges. It was already twelve noon, and they could see a nun or two guiding a senior citizen into the building's main entrance. Kurt parked three rows behind Burt's SUV so that Burt would never stumble into him or Puck at the slightest chance.

"What's your dad doing in a retirement home?" asked Puck.

"Beats the hell out of me," was all Kurt could say, for he too was getting highly inquisitive. "My grandparents have all passed away, and my Aunt Mildred is staying in Wisconsin, so who could he be visiting?" he wondered aloud.

"Let's go in and find out," suggested Puck as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Are you crazy?" exclaimed Kurt angrily as he pulled Puck back.

"So what are we supposed to do?" asked Puck.

"Just wait for a while," said a pacified Kurt, "I don't want us bumping into him and ruining our little espionage," he added. They both remained silent afterwards. Puck attempted to switch on the radio, only to have his hand slapped by Kurt. Just then, Burt emerged from the building's western wing, guiding a frail old man in a mould-green sweater and corduroy trousers to the adjacent building, which, by judging from its stained glass windows, was a chapel.

"Look, there he is," signalled Puck, alerting Kurt at once. "What do we do now?" he asked a curious Kurt.

"It's time to get down. I've got an idea. Keep it low, please," whispered Kurt cautiously as they stealthily made for the building's main entrance once Burt was inside the chapel. Once they were inside, Kurt quickly made for the receptionist's desk, while Puck tagged along warily, darting glances in all directions to make sure they were beyond Burt's reach. The receptionist, a lanky, bespectacled woman with neatly cropped brown hair, looked up at them with a courteous smile. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I help you?" she inquired in a friendly voice.

"Good afternoon, Miss, err, O' Connor," Kurt greeted after checking out her nametag, "I'm here to pay one of the inmates a visit," he explained.

"So is everyone else, but I've never seen you around here before. Our last patient came in two years ago, and her children take turns to visit her every weekend. Are you one of her grandchildren?" she asked suspiciously, and Kurt gave her a look of despair. He was lost now.

"Uh, no, not exactly; actually we're here to visit somebody else. Do you have some kind of a guestbook for us to sign?" he inquired a little edgily.

"Oh, I can't let you do that, sir. We have a strict policy that does not allow visitors to sign our guestbook before they tell us who they want to visit. Just give me the name of the patient, so I can key it into our digital logbook. You can sign the guestbook only after your visit," she insisted.

"Okay, to tell you the truth, I need to take a look at your guestbook, because I'd love to know who has been paying visits to whom lately in this institution," he offered, but even he had no confidence in himself.

"Sir, we respect our visitors' and our patients' privacies. Now, if you'll just give me the name of the patient…!" she repeated, only to be cut short by the male diva.

"It's okay, just take your time. We need a minute to sort this out," he said, dragging Puck with him to a corner where they were out of Miss O' Connor's sight. "Darn it! I screwed up, big time!" he swore softly as he buried his face in his hands.

"I think I have an idea," said Puck.

"Shoot," replied a frustrated Kurt.

"I saw her checking out my guns just now, maybe…" he trailed away, thinking that Kurt might not be impressed.

"So, you're going to provide her with some stud service in exchange for our access to the guestbook?" he whispered quizzically.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Puck said to a pensive Kurt, who then shot him a mischievous grin.

"I like it. Go, Tiger," he urged, still whispering. It was, after all, a desperate time calling for a desperate measure. So, he had no choice but to let Puck lead the way, for a change.

As Puck was busy seducing Miss O' Connor, he kept an eye on Burt. Lately, he was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, Puck was quite successful in his mission, for Miss O' Connor turned out to be overwhelmingly smitten by him.

"Anything for you, hot stuff," she drooled after five minutes of Puck whispering sweet nothings to her.

"Just give us the guestbook, and I'm all yours," Puck crooned in his sexiest voice.

"My pleasure," she sighed, handing him the leather-bound journal. Kurt took hold of it, and began flipping the pages. He noticed how sparse its contents were, and it dawned upon him that searching for his father's name would be pretty easy. At the same time, a pang of pity coursed through him as he thought of how lonely the inmates must be feeling with practically nobody to visit or comfort them in their old age.

Since Burt's visit was not over yet, Kurt scanned through the entries from the previous year, 2009. He narrowed his search to September, and he finally found "Burt Hummel" scribbled in his father's usual untidy scrawl. What he saw next sent sparks of shock into his mind, so strong that he had to take a step back.

"What's wrong, Kurt?" Puck asked upon noticing the smaller boy's strange reaction.

"Oh gosh, he's still alive," Kurt muttered in hushed spasms, but still audible enough for Puck to decipher.

"Who is it?" he asked again. In response, Kurt showed him the page where his father had written his name, pointing to the column reserved for the patients' names. "Karl Hummel," Puck read aloud, and no sooner had the realisation hit him, he felt chills run down his spine. "Kurt, that's him, right? The one…!" before he could finish, Kurt was bombarding Miss O' Connor with questions.

"How long has Karl Hummel been here?" he asked.

"According to Sister Agatha, he was transferred here in 1996, after the old asylum at Delphos was shut down," she answered.

"At whose request?" he grilled.

"Burt Hummel's, of course; he claims to be his only surviving relative," she replied.

"Does he still suffer from whatever he was treated for at Delphos?" asked Kurt again.

"All I know is that he has dementia. He has been making good progress over the years, but he's too old to live on his own. He should be in his nineties by now, not bad for someone who survived World War II," she clarified.

"Thanks for your help; you've been great," said Kurt hurriedly when he heard Burt's voice greeting a passing nun. "Come on, Noah, we've got to run," he reminded Puck, who was trying to resume flirting with Miss O' Connor.

"Don't forget to call me," she called after him, but Puck did not look back at her.

"Come on, there's no time to lose. My dad's headed this way. We've got to get back into the car," said a panting Kurt as he strode briskly out to the parking lot, with Puck trying to keep up with him.

"Well, that was close," said Puck once they were back in Quinn's Pontiac, but Kurt remained tight-lipped as he sped out of the premises and headed back to the main road. "You okay there?" he asked Kurt after what seemed to be an awkwardly lengthy moment of silence, when they were finally back on the highway that led to Allen County.

"My dad's been lying to me all this time," choked Kurt bitterly, "Why was he trying so hard to hide Karl Hummel from me?"

"Maybe he was trying to protect you," suggested Puck, but Kurt shook his head in disbelief.

"It doesn't make sense," Kurt finally answered, "I just knew it. He didn't want me to grow up like Karl, so he had him put away in some obscure place in the hope that nobody would never find him, me in particular, but guess what? I've found him, all right. Looks like I'm not daddy's silly little boy anymore," muttered Kurt as he tried to fight back more tears from falling.

"Hey, don't talk like that. I'm sure your dad meant well behind this," comforted Puck.

"What do you know?" Kurt lashed out angrily, but quickly realised the extent he had unknowingly gone in hurting Puck, for the Jewish boy shot him a dangerously furious look.

"Pull over," he said in a low voice.

"What?"

"I said 'pull over', it's my turn to drive," yelled Puck so suddenly that Kurt promptly stopped the car at the roadside albeit still in the middle of the highway. He got out of the car sheepishly and switched to the passenger seat while Puck took control.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised wholeheartedly, yet Puck refused to say a word. "Please, just say something. I'm feeling really bad, as of now. Say you hate me, or you wish to kill me and dump my body in the sewer, anything," he pleaded.

"You don't know how lucky you are, Hummel, having your dad by your side all the time, but that doesn't give you the right to judge me like that," he growled.

"I was not judging you, and I'm sorry if my words hit you home again, I truly am. I started high school without my mom, Noah. I completely understand what it's like to lack the other parent in growing up," said Kurt.

"Then, tell me how familiar are you with my life-story?" challenged Puck.

"Growing up without a mother is just as painful as growing up without a father. It made me feel exposed to the dangers of the outside world. Before I joined glee club, I was so afraid to confide in my dad about my insecurities and all the bullying I had to endure. I grew up without the type of friend kids often find in their parents. My dad was so busy working in his garage to put food on the table, and I can't burden him with my troubles when he's already got so much of his own. That was before I realised I mean more to him than I ever imagined. My point is whether it's the mother or father who's absent, there's bound to be a hole in our lives waiting to be filled. You may think that the comforts my dad could provide for me were enough to cheer me up after a whole day of hallway-tripping, locker-shoving, dumpster-tosses, slushy facials and gay jokes at school, but trust me, there were times when I just wanted to call it quits and stab myself, swallow a bottleful of antidepressants, drink myself to death, you name it, because I get tired of showing everyone how strong I am in facing all that. Life at home was never rosy for me, Noah. I used to cry myself to sleep, wishing my mom was alive to sort me out, and I still do, sometimes," he explained, trying his best to be sincere, but Puck's lips remained fixed into a scowl as he drove past the highway and back into downtown Lima. Kurt wondered if the drive back to his house would maintain the same painful silence.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Puck said eventually, "I was wrong about you. I always thought you got over your mom's death back when we were in high school. Turns out we have something in common, after all," he continued.

"I shouldn't have been so insensitive in the first place," argued Kurt.

"No, don't blame yourself. I was the hypersensitive one. Man, you must be thinking, what a wimp I was. Things haven't been turning out well for me these days. For starters, Lauren just broke up with me on Tuesday," he replied, his last sentence causing him to break down in tears.

"But why?" asked a stunned Kurt. Judging from accounts by Mercedes, Tina and Quinn, Puck and Lauren have been going steady for months, in fact, shortly after he left for Dalton Academy, and Kurt always thought that one day he would be invited to their wedding.

"Her mom thinks I'm a bad influence on her," explained Puck as he dried his eyes with the back of his hands.

"Noah, I'm so sorry," said Kurt earnestly. He could not think of a way to help Puck.

"After all that we had, I thought she was the right girl," recalled Puck, "Turns out she chose her family over me," he added bitterly after stopping the car, unable to drive any further. As he muffled a long-restrained sob, Kurt squeezed him on the shoulder gently, and much to his surprise, Puck returned the gesture by clutching onto his hand tightly, like a ship long lost at sea, finally relieved to drop its anchor safely after landing ashore.

"I think I'll take it from here," Kurt offered. Puck nodded meekly, and they switched seats again once he had recomposed himself. Fifteen minutes later, they were back. It was already three in the afternoon. Puck drove his truck as Kurt returned Quinn's Pontiac, and he drove Kurt home in his truck after that. Quinn, for her part, was amazed that Kurt had returned her car so quickly, but she politely steered out of making small talk when she sensed that he was not in a mood for conversation. Respecting his need to leave early, she kissed him goodbye on the cheek when he handed her car keys back. Kurt remained glum for the rest of the day, and Puck decided to let him be and challenge Finn to a duel on his latest videogame instead, but deep down, he was concerned for him.

Before he left, Puck texted Kurt, just to make sure he was alright. It simply read: _c u next wk, take care, man. _On the way home, his cell beeped, and he heaved a sigh of relief when he saw Kurt's reply: _Thx, Noah, will do. I'll c u 2. _

Meanwhile, as he packed his bags to go back to Dalton, Kurt's mind was haunted by his recent discovery. He knew he had to tell Burt about what he saw, but decided that now was not a good time. He gave himself a mental note to think over the matter in the following week, and then come clean during his next visit home.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**Honestly, dearest readers, this is the longest chapter I have ever worked on, both in terms of length and time. I spent days putting the sequences in proper order, allowing myself more time than usual for adding and deleting parts whenever the need arose. It is probably the most difficult chapter to write so far, what more when I was having a horrible spell of writer's block to overcome. I cannot tell how long I will take to come up with Chapter Ten, but I really hope that you will keep on following this story. Please do not hesitate to express your opinions and send in your reviews for this chapter; I am looking forward to hear from you, darling readers, for it is, once again, your enduring support and encouragement that inspire me to progress from strength to strength.**


	10. Chapter 10

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER; A LOT OF TIME WAS NEEDED TO PLAN AND ARRANGE THE SEQUENCES TOGETHER.**

**THANKS A MILLION TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER NINE; YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE MY EVERLASTING GRATITUDE. HERE IS A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**DO NOTE THAT I HAVE RESUMED USING SLIGHT REPETITION OF ELEMENTS AND WORDS AS A MEANS OF FOREGROUNDING IN THIS CHAPTER TO HIGHLIGHT THE PUCKURT/PURT/PUMMEL ISSUE. **

**ANOTHER NOTE: THE MENTAL INSTITUTION OF DELPHOS, OHIO, THAT WAS BRIEFLY MENTIONED IN CHAPTER NINE IS A FICTIONAL PLACE. IT IS MERELY A FIGMENT OF MY OWN IMAGINATION, AND THEREFORE IT DOES NOT EXIST. HOWEVER, I MUST STATE THAT WHATEVER RESEMBLANCES IT BEARS TO ANY ACTUAL PLACE, PARTICULARLY AN EXISTING MENTAL INSTITUTION, IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.**

**THE SONGS FEATURED IN THIS CHAPTER ARE **_**I'M WITH YOU **_**BY AVRIL LAVIGNE. I DO NOT OWN THIS SONG EITHER, AND NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED AS WELL.**

**Chapter Ten: The Thinkable Unthinkable Impulse of Falling in Love with Badass Noah "Puck" Puckerman alias Puckzilla also-known-as Puckersaurus**

**Kurt and Puck meet up again to solve the mystery that binds them together. Soon, the unthinkable happens. Enjoy! P.S: The following sequences marked with a triple "X" after Kurt's confrontation with his dad are all set back to the point when Kurt passes out, and no longer within the "an hour ago" timeframe. You will understand as you read on, but if you still have questions, please do not hesitate to ask. **

It was Sunday again, and Puck could not believe how swiftly time had passed. He could hear his mother bustling about in the kitchen downstairs as she prepared breakfast. It was then that he remembered the previous day, a Saturday, was a county holiday whose name he could not recall in his current state of sleep-induced stupor, and his mother was on leave.

Usually, it was only on Monday mornings that he would hear the kitchen come to life. He knew all the sounds impeccably well, from the slightly shrill metallic slam when the kettle was placed on the stove to the incessant clatter created by a teaspoon at work in a mug of coffee, dissolving sugar and merging sweetness with bitterness. When he was much younger and his father was still at home, such sounds depressed him, especially on schooldays, for they served as an alarm clock of sorts to wake him up from a fitful night's sleep, forcefully propelling him through the rituals of preparing for school. He often wished for the time to come when those sounds would never interrupt his sleep. In fact, he got what he wanted, but unknowingly paid a heavy price for it: his father had walked out, and his mother had no other choice but to work at odd hours just to make ends meet, thereby ending the early morning wakeup calls from the kitchen. Now, although he still regarded school with the same animosity he harboured from his childhood days, he looked forward to hearing those irksome sounds every Monday morning. It was the only physical figment of his happier past that he could still cling onto.

However, today was Sunday, and Puck hated rising early on Sundays. It was only eight, and it was unusually chilly today, even though the sky was quite sunny. In spite of the day's dullness that would usually tempt him back to sleep, Puck kicked off his blankets and rose promptly, heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, shave off his week-old stubble and take a cursory bath. He was hungry.

Meanwhile, the chill outside had not yet subsided. Upon entering the kitchen, Puck was greeted by the aroma of margarine melting on freshly-baked butterscotch waffles and steaming hot coffee, causing his stomach to rumble at the slightest hint. How long ago had it been since his mother prepared such splendid breakfasts from scratch? He looked at his mother spooning batter into the waffle iron, and then at his sister munching away with a big smile plastered on her face. If his father was occupying the seat at the head of the dining table, sipping his morning coffee as he scanned through the papers, the kitchen would have been the background for a perfect family portrait, just like the ones on the instant waffle mix-instant canned soup-instant pasta-instant everything commercials on television, or the smiling mother-father-son-and-daughter pasted onto cartons of his mother's trusted brand of detergent.

Alas, he was not there. A tear threatened to slide down Puck's cheek as he thought of how much had he missed as a result of growing up without his father at home. Whether it was a tear of frustration, self-pity, rage or just plain sadness, even Puck could not decipher. Nevertheless, he fought it back and proceeded to grab the seat facing Sarah's. It was the seat he always occupied as a child.

"Noah, what are you doing sitting on my chair?" asked Mrs. Ilana Puckerman in mock annoyance. Puck struggled to find an answer, but after reading the look on his mother's face, he kept silent. It was as if she was trying to say, _come on, Noah, how much longer do you want to fantasise over this perfect family mumbo-jumbo? He's never coming back, and you know it bloody well as much as I do. Now, will you please move over? You're the new man of the house. So, please sit where you belong_.

The reality of his father's absence sent a scathing pang of hurt down Puck's chest, and it slammed into him like a hard, ruthless iron fist. Yet he still moved over, his face downcast, to the place his father once occupied. Mrs. Ilana Puckerman was heaping waffles onto his plate, but the aroma no longer appealed to him. He had lost his appetite.

"Come, Noah, eat your waffles while they're still hot. I've heated the maple syrup, so you can keep warm throughout the day," said Mrs. Ilana Puckerman as she poured him a cup of coffee. _Eat, please eat, damn you; I've made breakfast from scratch today, so the very least you can do is wolf down those godforsaken waffles and pretend you're enjoying every single bloody morsel even if you don't feel like eating. It's all you need to do to make me happy, just this once. _Mrs. Ilana Puckerman did not have to say those words out loud; Puck knew her well enough to read her thoughts through the awkward stiffness of her movements.

As he watched his mother pour creamer into his coffee, he suddenly felt uncomfortable. There was something about her mannerisms that spoke of a subservient nature, like a devoted wife fawning over her supreme lord of a husband, and it sickened him considerably. Why was his mother treating him like this? _Please, ma, I'm your son, not your deadbeat husband. Please treat me the way a mother should treat her son. Just because I'm helping to support the family, doesn't mean you have to slave over me the way you did over dad. _

"There, just the way you like it," said Mrs. Ilana Puckerman, patting him fondly on the cheek before she tended to more waffles. His coffee somehow reminded him of vomit, and he refused to even look at it, let alone taste it, but when his mother turned around to smile at him, he guzzled it up, refusing to let her see his disgust towards his puke-coloured coffee. It dawned upon him that his mother was trying to re-enact the happy days she once had, before his father walked out, and he instantly felt sorry for her. _I shouldn't be doing this, let alone thinking about it. Ma needs to be happy after working all week at that cramped office; the least I should do is enjoy breakfast as a family, just like old times. She needs it, and so do I, and so does Sarah. _At the back of his head, a play was being plotted, waiting to be staged…

Puck gave his share of waffles a gluttonous look, smearing them with margarine before quartering the already quartered pancakes into neat squares, followed by an indulgent teaspoonful of maple syrup on top, each square crowned with a fat, juicy blueberry. As a child, that was how he enjoyed his waffles, presented in pieces and meticulously bedecked with condiments. He treated the whole preparation process like an elaborate Japanese tea ceremony, only that in his bygone child's imagination, he was probably creating a bizarre kind of hors d'oeuvre a gourmet chef would serve diplomat-style at a formal dinner. Plunging his fork into each little square, Puck allowed the flavours to culminate in his mouth, and his face mirrored a rivulet of pleasant sensations, just like those people in the television commercials tasting a sample of food made with whatever canned-soup-packaged pasta-bottled sauce that was being promoted, declaring it the superior brand of all canned soups-packaged pastas-bottled sauces with a contented smile to go with the eye-shut of ecstasy or just the usual "Yum, delicious!".

Meanwhile, Sarah had been witnessing his weird display of eating waffles, and she found it rather unpalatable. For her, waffles were meant to be gobbled up, crisp pancake, margarine, maple syrup, berries and all, as if they were some sort of poor man's Epicurean delight, designed to fill the guts with immense satisfaction, not to be treated daintily like it was the world's most expensive meal. How was she supposed to know? She was not even born yet when Puck was once a timid little boy who conducted rigid rites of dissecting, dressing and decorating his food during every waffle breakfast after learning from an unfortunate event of almost dying due to choking caused by impetuous glutting-of-waffles. What her seemingly wise gaze had scrutinised was purely a staged revival, but she was not old enough to see through the artifice behind it all. It was only natural that she immediately interpreted her brother's complicated eating habits to be a vulgar game that went against all the table manners she knew.

"Mommy, look at Noah. He's playing with his food," she squealed to a busy Mrs. Ilana Puckerman, but fell silent when Puck shot her his signature death-glare.

"Sarah, leave your brother alone; can't you see how hungry he is?" Mrs. Ilana Puckerman chided gently. Truth be told, Sarah could not care less, for she was anxious to return to walloping her own waffles. The instruction was simple and clear-cut, but its underlying Oedipal overtones were enough to make Puck uncomfortable all over again.

The remainder of breakfast consisted largely of Mrs. Ilana Puckerman telling the children what she thought of making for dinner as she ate her waffles, her long-untouched Betty Crocker cookbook by her side. First, it was Kung Pau chicken (_no, it won't do; Sarah's too young for spicy food, don't you think so, Noah?_), followed by shepherd's pie (_with extra grated cheese on top, just the way you love it, Noah_) and finally, everyone (Puck included, though passively) agreed on tuna quiche when Mrs. Ilana Puckerman realised that they had run out of minced beef, and the nearest delicatessen was closed on Sundays.

When it was finally over, Sarah had volunteered to help with the dishes, while Puck, unable to continue with his self-staged act for a minute longer, dashed out of the kitchen for a whiff of fresh air in the living room, the garden, in fact anywhere but the very place where the family sat down to their three meals of the day. Mrs. Ilana Puckerman gave him a strange look, wondering what the cause for his abrupt move was, but Puck had no time for exchanging looks. The flooding in of memories was too much for him to bear. Although he felt terribly guilty for leaving his mother alone in the kitchen with Sarah and no-one to relive the happy perfect family days of the past, he simply needed to be alone. He was afraid of losing his cool and ruining the nostalgic atmosphere that his mother had painstakingly reconstructed. He was not that selfish.

Yet could it be deduced that Puck's refusal to continue with his brand of theatricality was the reason why he had to get out of the house? Mrs. Ilana Puckerman might have gathered the signs; she could have been fully aware that her son was pretending to be appreciative for her sake and that he had ad-libbed his own exit when he had run out of dialogues, gestures or perhaps guts, but what she did not notice was his sighting of that accursed old photo album she had yet to return to her peevish mother, shoved a bit too unceremoniously (for a family relic, that is) but mostly accidentally into a pile of her husband's abandoned college textbooks, waiting silently (and perhaps grudgingly) in their cardboard box for an uncertain future in the hands of new, more deserving owners, who would (as owners-to-be) throng to have a second look at them for their unbelievably low second-hand prices at the next neighbourhood yard sale. Was it a sigh of relief they were heaving when the new man of the house (_no, no, the old one is never coming back; you heard the lady just now, which is why we're all here_) had spotted and subsequently unearthed the oddball among them? After all, they had nothing in common with the latest addition to their refugee-family-in-a-cardboard-box, treasuries of the wonders of carpentry, masonry and the ilk that they were. The only thing that bonded them all was the fact that they had no place in this house, but still, a 70-year old ravaged-by-silverfish photo album for sale? Picture it, a near-wordless journal of family history standing stupidly proud, trying to make an obvious (but ridiculous, sadly) difference in a sea of guides to polytechnic academia. As though he understood its plight, Puck felt a stab of pity for that mould-coloured cloth-bound album with its rusted gold-coloured metal edging, picking it up hastily before his mother caught him dabbling with their family's disturbing past.

Alone now in his room, Puck welcomed the autumn chill that had already filled every nook and corner of his room. Opening the album, he took a close look at the face that was so identical to his. _Go and find him_, the smiling countenance of Nehemiah Wexler seemed to tell him, but who, he did not disclose, and yet Puck already knew the answer: find Karl, but Puck dismissed the idea immediately. Just a week ago, he and Kurt had narrowly avoided bumping into Burt during their unexpected discovery, and he doubted if Kurt would want to take that risk again. He certainly did not want to take a peek at Karl without Kurt or without his permission for fear of offending the male diva. Kurt was a sensitive person, after all. However, he could still hear Nehemiah's gentle pestering (he was sure it was him; no other inner voice, not even his conscience had bothered him so intensely before) echoing in the eerie silence of his room as the first autumn winds blew. _If you find him, I might find my peace, and you might find some answers of your own, too. _Was it true? Did Puck really have questions that needed answering? He already knew why his father had walked out (Sarah was too big an added responsibility), why Lauren had to break up with him (her mother disapproved of him) and why he could not raise Beth as her rightful father (still a student with no regular income, and a troublesome one at that). What else did he have to ask?

The moment he snapped the album shut, he heard his mother calling him from downstairs. There was someone at the door, asking for him? Who could it be?

Rushing down the stairs, he stopped in his tracks to find a glum-looking Kurt, wearing a pair of shades to conceal his eyes. "Take those shades off, Hummel. You're inside a house; the sun's not going to get to your eyes from here," joked Puck, but this time, there was no bitchy retort or arrogant huff, only a sniffle and what looked like a finger wiping a teardrop away from the surface of an unblemished yet flustered cheek. "Kurt, you okay, man?" he asked quickly, thinking that his joke was particularly upsetting to the male diva.

It was only a question, voiced out of purely genuine concern, but for Kurt, it was akin to the opening of an emotional floodgate, an invitation into the warm comfort a person was ready to provide. It did not occur to Kurt that in his current state, that of utmost vulnerability, he was misinterpreting simple gestures of friendly goodwill as a deeper, more complicated version of what they were supposed to be. It was then and there that Kurt felt a strange numbness overcome his body, making his legs go weak and the insides of his guts churn like a cauldron of boiling molten metal. Slowly, he began to lose his footing as his head swam and his vision blurred. What was happening to him? In those briefest of moments before everything around him was shrouded in perpetual darkness, the only thing that he was able to absorb was Puck's increasingly alarmed voice. Yes, Puck, ex-thorn-in-his-side Puck, Puck the dumpster thrower, Puck the screw-up, Puck the rotten, Puck the badass, Puck the sex shark, current-confidante-linked-by-a-family-secret Puck was calling out to him. As his equilibrium gradually lost control, he expected to land on the floor with a dull, almost-metallic thud, but he did not feel any sharp pain bursting into his skull. It was as though he had defied the laws of gravity when he felt he was being lifted gently by someone big and strong enough to handle his weight. Kurt thought he was dead.

XXX

_An hour earlier_

He did not expect things to spiral out of control like that, but he just could not help it. Whose fault was it anyway? Was it his, for being too blunt with his choice of words? Or was it his father's, for betraying him so cruelly? The exchange of words between him and Burt not too long ago at the breakfast table resonated clearly in his head, what more when there was nobody to be seen on the streets today.

He was sitting down to his morning cuppa when it happened. Perhaps it was his entire fault; he should not have avoided looking at his father in the eye. He should have thought of something more innovative so as not to rouse his father's suspicions, yet that was exactly what he failed to do. He kept his eyes fixed on his steaming cup of tea even when Burt greeted him "Good morning". Therefore, it was little wonder that Burt felt his son was particularly cold and distant today, and being the loving father that he was, immediately got himself overwhelmed by a strong concern for Kurt.

"Hey, you okay, buddy?" he asked gently, but Kurt only lowered his eyes and broke crumbs out of his toast, remaining aloof as ever. "Look, I know something's bothering you, and I need to know what it is. Is it about some guy you're having a crush on?" he interrogated, only to have Kurt glare menacingly at him. "Fine, if you don't want to talk about it, then I'll just drop it, but you do know I'll find out sooner or later," he said before rising to leave. It was only then that a tiny sob escaped Kurt's lips, forcing him to open his mouth. He would not let his father get away with this. _This is fourteen years of lies and deceit we're talking about, my dear. _Kurt felt the need to at least confront his father, if not punish him. It was hugely impossible for Burt to leave out by accident Karl Hummel's current whereabouts or even the fact that he was still alive because Burt was not that old to experience such a severe bout of forgetfulness, but more importantly, it was essentially an integral part of Karl Hummel's story that should not be left out in the first place, unless deliberately so. Besides, why did Burt have to be so secretive about it? Kurt was aware that the jigsaw puzzle was not complete yet; Burt's story of Karl and his discovery at Findlay were merely two pieces put together. There were still more to come, more that needed putting together so the real picture can finally be seen. Kurt realised that it was about high time Burt spilled the beans, which was what prompted him to release that tiny sob. Of course, for a son disillusioned and bewildered by his father's betrayal, the sob was merely allegorical; it was a cry of a week-long suppressed hurt, rage and confusion combined together. If he could not bear to punish Burt by means of words, he would do so through his clever display of suffering. Years of watching musical films and Broadway shows had, apart from helping him to hone his vocal chords, also taught him a good thing or two about complex histrionics.

"How could you do this to me, dad?" he whispered soon after delivering his allegorical sob. Judy Garland would be so proud of me, he thought sarcastically.

"Eh?" a bewildered Burt wondered aloud.

"You lied to me when you said you had to go out fishing every fall; wait, it's not just me you've been lying to; first, it was mom, and now, Carole. Why, dad, why?" he pleaded. It was a good thing Carole had left the house early for the weekend farmers' market. He did not want her to see him in a heated argument with his father. It was bad enough that he was involving her name in this. Anything more could mean trouble to his father's marriage, and he would never stoop that low even when he was clearly unhappy with what Burt had done.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you finish your breakfast? I'm going to watch something on TV," Burt said dismissively.

"I followed you last week, dad, to your little getaway. I know you've been visiting Karl," said Kurt directly as he sipped his tea with such an eerie serenity that even Burt was starting to feel afraid of him now, but a teardrop was cascading down his cheek.

"Look, Kurt, it's not what it looks like. I was only trying to protect you," Burt explained.

"By protecting me, you mean hiding the family fag so I don't follow in his footsteps, isn't that right?" Kurt challenged.

"Hey, I told you never to use that word on yourself!" Burt yelled, so loudly that Kurt had jumped and spilled his tea all over the dining table, but he remained composed in spite of the shock.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you by not living up to your expectations. I'm sorry I didn't turn out like Finn," he sobbed openly now as he cleaned up the mess he just made.

"We're not going down that road again. I've told you before, I'll always love you, no matter what, and I meant every word I said," retorted Burt, only to have Kurt ignore him as he brought his unfinished cup of tea to the sink. "What do you want me to do? I've told you everything I know about him. Isn't that enough?" he reasoned, and it was only then that Kurt spoke up.

"You missed a very crucial point," corrected Kurt, "You didn't tell me he's still alive."

"And it was for a good reason," replied Burt sternly.

"Oh, do tell," Kurt mumbled sardonically.

"I don't want you getting all obsessed with him. Carole and I want to see you and Finn achieve so many great things; I just didn't want you to end up neglecting your studies just for the sake of figuring out some old family secret. I'm sure you don't want your mother seeing you like that. So I had to convince you that he's dead even after I've told you everything about him. It was for your own good, trust me," said Burt earnestly.

"I trust you, dad," replied Kurt, "but you do know that I'd find out sooner or later, don't you? It's sad that I had to find out for myself," he continued, having calmed down considerably, lacing his last sentence with a generous pinch of bitterness.

"Now that you know, I hope you're satisfied," said Burt.

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Kurt.

"I forbid you to visit him. Karl has very little time left. I don't want you asking him all sorts of silly questions. Let him have some peace," replied Burt, but Kurt would have none of it.

"No, even if you shift him three states away, I'll still visit him, because I have questions that need answers, dad," said Kurt as he turned his back, "What you've been doing may be for my own good, but its definition remains the same. It's called betrayal, dad, because all my life, I believed you'd never hide anything from me, not even something like this. Now, I have second thoughts," he hissed coldly at Burt, sending him a hard glare before storming out of the kitchen. He sensed his father trying to stop him, but gave up, knowing that it was hard to reason with someone as resolute as him.

"Fine, have it your way," growled Burt, "but don't come running back to me when the truth gets too ugly for you," he added darkly.

Kurt had no idea how long or how far had he been walking just to cool his temper. His father's last words were particularly haunting. Did he really mean it? Maybe I did make a mess this time, thought Kurt as he kept walking. _If I hadn't, dad wouldn't have threatened me like that._ However, all those years of his father hiding the true truth about Karl Hummel from him began to sink in once again, and anger regained its position in his heart, prompting him to walk further. Telling his story was completely different from the true truth, after all, for the true truth involved more tangible details that answered questions like "where is he now?" or "is he still alive?". Clearly, Burt had taken an advantage of sorts that morning when he told Kurt about Karl. Kurt imagined Burt heaving a secret sigh of relief when he did not ask any questions pertaining to the true truth, and it served as the fodder to fuel his anger even more. Then, along came disillusionment and hurt, causing tears to well in his eyes. Sensing that he was being watched, he fished out his shades from a pocket of his trench coat, putting them on hastily to deflect whatever stares that were aimed at his grieving form.

He kept on walking, unaware that he had ended up in another neighbourhood. When he finally stopped, he realised he had lost his way, for he did not recognise the houses around him. Panic flooded into him instantly; how far away was he from home? He remembered not taking his cell with him, and that meant he had to rack his brains a little to find his way back before his father, Carole and Finn got worried.

There was a parched dryness in his throat from all the crying, causing him to suddenly yearn for a thirst-quenching drink. All he had was a small sip of tea, and he was starting to feel dehydrated. He looked at the never-before-seen houses around him, and his eyes chanced upon a dented letterbox that read "Puckerman" in chipped paint. Could this be Puck's house? He desperately needed to find someplace to rest before finding his way home. He knew it would be awkward, perhaps even rude, to just knock at some stranger's door. After all, Puckerman was not an uncommon surname, at least in such a huge country, but could the same be applied to a ghost town like Lima, Ohio? Kurt clung earnestly to logic, convinced that it was not Puck's house, but necessity came over him as he could no longer handle his thirst. Years later, he would secretly congratulate himself for merging two very opposite spectrums of execution together, culminating into a lifesaving decision that would further change his life.

So it was that Kurt Hummel, thirsty, depressed and to an extent, physically and mentally exhausted entered the residence of his ex-bully, tormentor and desecrator of fashion and everything lovely all rolled into one, Noah Puckerman alias Puck, also known as Puckzilla or Puckersaurus by means of three weary knocks. A lady in a lilac caftan answered the door, bearing a look as though it was her eyes and not her senses that had jumped in surprise. There was something about her eyes (the crow's feet that adorned them, the puffy bags that supported them) that suggested a never-ending story of strife, of what sort Kurt was not sure, though. Obviously, she was not expecting any company today. Shame pounded in Kurt's head like a stubborn hammer, chastising him, sending surges of hot blood to tinge his porcelain cheeks crimson. It was Mrs. Ilana Puckerman, but Kurt did not know who she was. Although he was deeply embarrassed, he asked for Puck nonetheless. "Does Noah Puckerman live here?"

"Yes, he does. I'm his mother. How do you know my son?" she asked, flaunting her curiosity openly, although her face remained drawn and contorted. What did a dandy like this boy have to do with her son? Kurt noticed her eyes darting up and down at his clothes, and he felt annoyed.

"It's Alexander McQueen," he informed Mrs. Ilana Puckerman (to which she nodded disinterestedly); "I'm Kurt Hummel, by the way. I used to be Noah's schoolmate, but we still keep in touch," he added painstakingly. His thirst was overwhelming him, but he chose to keep his peace over the matter in an attempt to be polite.

"Oh, I see," replied Mrs. Ilana Puckerman, "Just a minute," she promised, and with that, she summoned Puck downstairs.

XXX

It was that same dream again. A city in ruins; whole families scurrying out of a building as soldiers bombarded it mercilessly; maimed and starving victims sprawled across the streets. Then, there he was. Nehemiah Wexler, the man who looked like Puck, with tears of joy streaming down his soot-stained cheeks as he brought Kurt's hands to his face. Suddenly, they were running away. A black swastika encased in a white circle, cast in a sea of red loomed above them. Unfortunately, it spelt their inevitable doom. Nehemiah was brought down on his knees and beaten to a bloody pulp before one of the soldiers shot him in the forehead, ending his cries for Karl, for good. The wide open eyes, now glassy and lifeless, the gaping mouth ushering a swarm of flies, the pool of blood gathering beside his battered corpse, the cuts from the blows; everything flashed before him like a slideshow. He no longer felt like being in his own dream. He was merely a spectator now, although he could feel himself being close to the corpse, blood, flies and all. It was unbearable. He had to get out, though he did not know why, but he just had to. He struggled to rise, but his legs were suddenly numb. He shut his eyes, thinking it a good way to escape his nightmare. He felt a slight loosening somewhere (was it his brain, or his eye-sockets?), and it gradually increased, but slowly, and slowly…

XXX

It was re-enacting itself in his sleep once more, against his free will. He was back inside, planted in the midst of those dirty, dimly-lit corridors. The screams of the patients were traumatising, if not deafening, as if each scream was a canvas of somebody's sorry descend into madness. The next moment, he was looking at Karl weeping over Nehemiah's framed photo. After that, there was Karl's frenzied cry for Nehemiah the moment he saw Puck through the window, followed by the burly doctor instructing his wardens-in-waiting to get hold of Karl. Then, the muffled screams wafted throughout the corridor, so shrill and agonising to the point that Puck was shedding bitter tears of anger for being unable to rescue Karl as they administered the dreaded shock therapy on him. The scenes flashed before him, quick as lightning, but clear enough for him to see Karl's slender frame bucking forcefully from the volts of electricity pumped into his brain. All of a sudden, the room was empty, save for Karl lying on the bed, stilled by restraints. Puck saw his vacant eyes slowly meeting his gaze, culminating into a high, eerie laugh that gave him goose-bumps. The hysterical laughter echoed with despair as it rang in Puck's ears, sending a crashing blackness into his equilibrium…

XXX

They opened their eyes at the same time, almost as if on cue, their bodies damp with cold sweat. Both had jumped in fright, having woken up from what seemed to be yet another repeat of their respective nightmares. With their eyes still half-shut, they surveyed their surroundings. All was calm and quiet. Kurt turned his head around to find Puck rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. He had been sleeping at the foot of the couch, perhaps keeping watch over him, Kurt could not tell, but here he was, his ex-bully and ex-tormentor, sleeping right beside him. They held each other's gazes for a long time. They did not have to say it out loud; their eyes were sufficient testimony to the dreams they just had, the dreams that mysteriously brought them together.

They continued to look at each other, until a lanky woman with shoulder-length hazel hair approached him and sat somewhere beside him. Kurt realised he was lying down on somebody's couch as he got up. The woman offered him a glass of iced lemonade, which he nearly grabbed from her (out of desperation), gulping down its contents ravenously to quench his torturous thirst. The woman's eyes glittered slightly at the sight of his poor display of table manners, the kind that suggested he was making a bad impression of himself.

"You fainted on my front door," the woman said frankly. It was only then that Kurt remembered she was Puck's mother. "Go slow on that; you might choke," she advised when Kurt was about to take another huge swig of lemonade. "Just as I thought, not enough water," she added, referring to Kurt's state of dehydration.

"Thank you, Mrs. Puckerman," said Kurt politely.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a suddenly gentler tone.

"Much better," replied Kurt with a smile, which, to his surprise, was reciprocated by Puck's mother.

"If that's the case, I'll leave you two alone now," said Mrs. Ilana Puckerman as she rose to leave.

As though warned by instinct, they waited until Mrs. Ilana Puckerman was out of earshot. When she finally was, they began talking.

"I sort of had a fight with my dad," said Kurt, "And I went out for a stroll just to calm down, but I lost my way. I didn't know you live here," he continued.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Puck announced with a chuckle, and Kurt's lips curled into a light, amused smile.

"Thanks for not letting me fall flat on my face today," he said, lightening the silent atmosphere even more. The bad dreams were no longer on their minds; they were waiting, somewhere in a far, distant corner of the boys' minds, for the right time to strike the two again when they are least expected.

"No worries," replied Puck. "Look, I don't mean to pry, but what were you and your dad fighting about?" he asked, and Kurt lowered his gaze, as though he had just been severely reprimanded. "I'm sorry," he mumbled after looking at Kurt's reaction. The air around them was starting to change, for better or worse, they both could not tell.

"It was about Karl," Kurt uttered after what seemed like an awkwardly long pause. "I told my dad we've been spying on him last week. When I asked him why he had been keeping this from me all this time, he said he did it to protect me. Can you imagine that? I don't know what he was trying to protect me from, but things got so ugly after that. Maybe I shouldn't have talked back or even tell him that I now know what he has been doing instead of fishing every fall in the first place, but I felt so deceived," he explained, a disappointed tear sliding down his cheek as he spoke. "Tell me, Noah, do I have the right to be angry with my father? Would you react in the same way I did if you found out your mother was keeping a big secret like this from you when she's known to have never hidden anything from you?" he then asked.

"Maybe it's about time you wake up and smell the coffee," replied Puck in a manner so straightforward that it actually stung Kurt's heart. "Parents are like everybody else; they tell lies to cover things up, just like the rest of us," he explained.

"What do you mean?" demanded Kurt, still a little hurt.

"Don't get me wrong, Kurt, but you're not a child anymore. When you're a child, you tend to see only the good side of people. I used to be like that, at least before I found out _why_ my dad walked out. Now, you're seventeen, you should know that everyone has a bad side apart from their good side," Puck continued.

"Forgive my ignorance," said Kurt bitterly.

"Look, I'm not asking you to hate your dad just because he suddenly turned out to be imperfect. What I'm saying is you can't expect him to be true to you all the time, because the truth isn't always beautiful. Your dad may have his reasons for hiding Karl Hummel for you, but the important thing for you to know is _why _he did it. We've all been taught that people who tell lies are bad and cannot be trusted, but it doesn't apply to every situation. Sometimes, you've just got to be bad to do something good. My ma has been keeping a lot from me even after my dad walked out, and naturally, I get mad at her for not telling me, but more often than not, I realise it's because she doesn't want me to get hurt; she did it out of love. It may not have worked out all the time because I had to find out those painful things from other people, but I didn't care, because in the end, all that matters is that she loves me. That's what makes parents special. They're willing to do anything, no matter how horrible, for their children. It's just something that urges them to do it, and I…" Puck came to a stop, unable to continue. A tear slid down his cheek as well, when his voice began to trail away. Kurt caught sight of it, and he knew what was in Puck's mind: he was missing Beth. Funny, how a single tear can describe a person's innermost thoughts. A tinge of sadness flooded his heart. In spite of his delinquency, his past tendency of resorting to bullying as an attempt to avoid being bullied and therefore administer his "superiority", Puck was capable of being a devoted father. He reached out his hand, and placed it gently on the taller boy's shoulder.

"You know what? If Beth is here, and if she's old enough to understand every word you just said, she'll be so proud of you," whispered Kurt softly, but in such a way that seemed to illuminate the darkness that was the void Beth left behind in Puck's heart, emanating massive comforting volumes in spite of its hushed tones.

Puck lifted his gaze to meet Kurt's, and when he saw the sincere warmth in them, he grabbed Kurt's slim frame, circling him with his strong arms in a heartfelt, thankful embrace. Kurt was shocked by this sudden gesture of gratitude; he was momentarily taken aback, a tiny but audible "oh" escaping his lips, but he slowly returned the hug, wrapping his own arms around Puck as well. His nose, sensitive as ever, caught Puck's salty-sweet, earthy scent of sweat mixed with soap (smells like Antabax, he thought) as he brought himself closer. His eyes captured the curve of the Jewish boy's ear, and he secretly found it a delicate (and fragile) beauty to behold. His hands lingered (perhaps a little too long) on Puck's back and he swore he could feel the hard muscles scalding under his touch. He heard Puck release a spasm; was he crying? "Are you alright?" he asked in a whisper. Puck must have sensed how strange Kurt was feeling, given their not-so-palatable history, and he loosened his hug instantly, releasing the smaller boy.

"Yeah, I'm cool. It's just that, I miss her," he confessed as he dried his eyes. Kurt knew it. He was right all along. How sad it must be, for a parent to be separated from his or her child, even if the parent in question was someone as reckless as Puck.

"I meant what I said. You'd make a wonderful father, Noah," he replied, and Puck smiled at him, his brown eyes a little glassy from the brief flow of tears not too long ago.

"Thanks, man, I…" but before he could continue, the cuckoo-clock in the living room began to emanate its singsong chant to indicate the time. It was already two in the afternoon. Kurt seemed to be well aware of it. He checked his wristwatch to confirm how late it was. Burt, Carole and Finn would be worried by now. Puck observed his mannerisms, and forgot about resuming his sentence.

"I think I should be heading home now. Tomorrow's a school day, and I need to start packing tonight," said Kurt as he rested a comforting hand on Puck's arm. Puck simply nodded, but as Kurt got up to leave, he suddenly remembered that the reason Kurt was in his house because he had lost his way, and it was impossible for him to relocate his house from here, given that he was unfamiliar with this part of town.

"Do you want a ride?" he piped, a little too unceremoniously, as he was still seated, while Kurt was already at the door.

Kurt gave him a look of surprise, but only for a moment, remembering the circumstances that brought him to Puck's house. His countenance softened as he smiled a smile of gratitude. "Yes, please."

The drive back to Kurt's house was, let it be said, uneventful, at least on the surface. Both boys did not know what topic to raise, afraid that it would be inappropriate and perhaps offensive to either of them. To liven up the autumn silence that presided over the road trip, Puck tuned the radio in his truck with his free hand as he drove, trying to find his favourite station. When he finally did, he heard Kurt gasp with excitement, albeit softly in his usual poised princess-style.

"I didn't know you're into Northwest FM," he commented, and Puck responded with a smirk that read "Hell, yeah."

However, the next song that was being played on the Back-to-Back Hits programme ironically silenced them both as they were prompted out of fondness for the particular ballad to follow the lyrics.

_I'm standing on a bridge,_

_I'm waiting in the dark,_

_I thought that you'd be here by now._

_There's nothing but the rain,_

_Like footsteps on the ground,_

_I'm listening, but there's no sound._

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?_

_Won't somebody come take me home?_

_It's a damn cold night,_

_I'm trying to figure out this life;_

_Won't you take me by the hand?_

_Take me somewhere new;_

_I don't know who you are, but I…I'm with you…_

_I'm with you…_

_I'm looking for a place,_

_I'm searching for a face,_

_Is there anybody here I know?_

_Because nothing's going right,_

_And everything's a mess,_

_And no-one likes to be alone._

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?_

_Won't somebody come take me home?_

_It's a damn cold night,_

_I'm trying to figure out this life;_

_Won't you take me by the hand?_

_Take me somewhere new;_

_I don't know who you are, but I…I'm with you…_

_I'm with you…yeah…_

_Oh, why is everything so confusing?_

_Maybe I'm just out of my mind…yeah-yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah…oh!_

_It's a damn cold night,_

_I'm trying to figure out this life;_

_Won't you take me by the hand?_

_Take me somewhere new;_

_I don't know who you are, but I…I'm with you…_

_I'm with you…_

_Take me by the hand,_

_Take me somewhere new;_

_I don't know who you are, but I…I'm with you…_

_I'm with you…I'm with you…_

_Take me by the hand,_

_Take me somewhere new;_

_I don't know who you are, but I…I'm with you, oh…_

_I'm with you…I'm with you…_

They both continued to remain silent even after the song was replaced by a more upbeat, raunchier and quicker tune. Avril's ballad was still ringing in their ears. Somehow the song seemed to perfectly illustrate and mirror their respective feelings. Kurt was going through a hard time trying to move on without Blaine even though he had convinced himself that it was good to be alone for a while, and so was Puck; he was still recovering from the pain that came with the gap Lauren had left in his heart. Such recent turns of events had left the two boys lonely and, to a certain extent, emotionally scarred and subsequently desperate, desperate for what, they were not sure themselves. Was it a new love they craved for, or was it just the assuring and comforting presence of a trusted friend? If truth be told, being together made them feel safe and protected from whatever harm the outside world chose to wreck upon their lives. The trouble is they did not realise it.

Neither did they both realise how fast time had flown when Puck pulled over at Kurt's driveway. In fact, it startled them that their journey seemed so short. Deep down, they both wished they could be in each other's company for just a little while longer.

"Thanks for everything," said Kurt slowly, uttering each word separately and not as a sentence, as if he needed time to deliberate on which one is best-suited. Then, in a gesture conducted purely out of friendship, he squeezed Puck's shoulder gently and smiled a grateful smile. Within split seconds, he felt a strange tingling riding up his senses. He did not know what it was, but it made him pull his hand away, not abruptly, but slowly, naturally, the way a friend should do.

Puck turned to look at him and nodded, a slight twitch curling about his lips. It was his no-worries smile. "Keep cool," he said, as the male diva got down from his truck.

"I will," said Kurt

XXX

Kurt entered the living room to find Burt, Carole and Finn fidgeting nervously as they talked to each other. He secretly hoped that their conversation was not centred on him, but when Burt landed his eyes on him, he got up instantly, relief flooding his face. Kurt swore he actually saw his father turn a shade younger.

"Where the Hell have you gone to? You just walked out without your phone. We were _this _close to calling the cops, and…!" Burt cascaded into a somewhat amusing tirade, his voice thick with worry, but Kurt shushed him gently.

"I'm so sorry, dad. I didn't mean to put you through that. It was really selfish of me to let my emotions govern over my instincts, and I'm deeply sorry, once again, not only for this, but also for what happened in the kitchen this morning," he said, thinking of what Puck had told him about parents earlier on. He felt a sob rising in his throat, prompting him to hug his father tightly. Burt, overcome with fatherly love, reciprocated readily.

"What happened in the kitchen?" asked a confused Finn, only to be reprimanded by Carole.

"What matters is, Kurt's home," she said.

"I promise I'll try my best to move on after this, dad," whispered Kurt.

"You deserved to know the truth. I shouldn't have hidden it from you," replied Burt.

"I can't promise you I'll stop thinking about it," said Kurt as he released himself from his father's hug.

"I understand," replied Burt. "I'll let you handle this in your own way, but if you ever need help, I'm always there," he declared, resulting in Kurt hugging him once more.

XXX

Alone in his dormitory, Kurt simply could not erase the strange reactions he felt when he was with Puck that afternoon. He tried to focus on finishing Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird", to no avail. Images of Puck's vulnerable stare when he related his own experiences growing up without entirely knowing the truth, of him drying his eyes at the thought of little Beth, of his various smiles, all flashed in his mind consistently. Then, there was the hug. Kurt remembered the warmth of Puck's body, the hardness of his muscles, the curve of his ears and his scent. He remembered hearing the faint sniffle coming from the boy as his body quivered with a spasm, and he wished he could have held on to him just a little bit longer. He remembered them all, and tried as he might, he could not help but yearn to experience those sensations again. Unbeknownst to him, the unthinkable was fast becoming thinkable: he was falling in love with Puck. As much as he struggled to deny it, he was looking forward to visit Puck again the following weekend. As the myriad of thoughts boggled his mind and conscience, Kurt had difficulty sleeping that night, but at least it was the lesser of the two evils compared to the nightmares.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**Dearest darling readers, PLEASE let me know what you think of this chapter. Once again, I am terribly sorry for the delay of this chapter. As you can see, this is by far the longest chapter I have ever written in terms of word count and the time spent. To be honest, I was experimenting with a new writing style while completing this chapter. I am nonetheless pleased to announce that this chapter marks the start of the story's rising action. Personally, I strongly feel that this story is progressing well, but I still need all the support and encouragement I can get, because it is getting harder and harder to write. Yes, chapter eleven is very challenging, and I cannot confirm how long it will take to complete. However, PLEASE, by all means, feel free to send in your comments and reviews for this chapter. I sincerely hope to hear from all of you as soon as possible, because it is, once again, your kind support and loving encouragement, darling readers, which really keep me going.**


	11. Chapter 11

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**FINALLY, THIS CHAPTER IS COMPLETE! A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE PROLONGED DELAY; I WAS ONCE AGAIN UNDER A SEVERE SPELL OF WRITER'S BLOCK.**

**THANKS A MILLION TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER TEN; YOUR SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT MEANS THE WORLD TO ME. HERE IS A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**Chapter Eleven: The Descend of Great-Aunt Ora the Wizened Almost-Octogenarian, Keeper of Secrets**

**Puck visits his grandmother and meets Ora Puckerman, who has secrets of her own. Warning: Kurt will not appear in this chapter.**

Puck stepped out of his truck and momentarily squinted at the condominium building looming above him. It was not just any condominium; it was the family home of his seventy-five-year old grandmother, who lived all alone unattended, unless one of her elderly neighbours came knocking for a game of poker or for tea.

There were times when Puck pitied his grandmother. She was, in spite of her fierce independence, heavily dependent on her younger relatives' charity. Throughout her fifty years as a devoted wife, she had willingly allowed herself to be impregnated in the first decade, her swollen womb spitting out healthy fruit after healthy fruit when the time was right. For the rest of her marital life, she had blamelessly nurtured and nourished her brood of six in the best way she knew. Yet when age took its toll on her, old Mrs. Wexler's sacrifices and services were cruelly taken for granted. Whether she was aware of it or not, it quickly became common knowledge among the members of her extended Jewish family that she was a severely demented, highly eccentric and dangerously forgetful old woman. Her children, caught up in the never-ending traffic of supporting their own families, started treating her like a burden, so much so that in recent years some of them hardly ever visited her, though they would all take turns to pay her monthly rent and bills. It was obvious that none of them could bear the brunt of her sporadic outbursts. So that was how old Mrs. Wexler came to live all by herself for the past two years, after the youngest of her brood, snobbish first-high-school-valedictorian-of-the-family Yitzhak, accepted an offer to work as a sales representative for his software company in faraway Honolulu and left, never to return again. Puck wished there was some way for him to help his grandmother feel less lonely, but he was a boy of seventeen with an active social life, and there was little he could do except reserve one day of the week to spend time with her. Once, while visiting her, he turned on the television to watch an episode of _Walking with Monsters _on Discovery Channel, and found her sniffling silently as the documentary depicted a mother Dimetrodon, having fasted throughout autumn and winter to keep vigil on her eggs, trying to devour her weaker offspring out of desperation to ensure the survival of her species. He did not know that she was watching the show with him, but when he did, he tried to take a closer look at her, only to find her walking to her room, the door shutting gently behind her.

It so happened that today was a Saturday, the only day of the week when old Mrs. Wexler actually stepped out of her apartment not only to attend prayers at the synagogue downtown, but also to replenish her groceries and perhaps enjoy a short stroll at the park. Hearing the doorbell, she proceeded to open her door, expecting to see her grandson Noah, ready to escort her to his truck as usual, but instead of Noah, she found herself staring at a face she had not seen in years…

XXX

"Stop ogling at me like that, Miriam," snapped old cousin Ora as she hobbled past the threshold of old Mrs. Wexler's apartment. Old Mrs. Wexler's legs suddenly went numb. What on Earth was her cousin, having spent nearly a decade in self-imposed estrangement, doing in her apartment?

Then, reality hit old Mrs. Wexler, hard, like a chunk of freezing cold ice: she had remembered. Two days ago, she received a phone call from the person she had least expected to ring her up. It was Ora Puckerman, one of her few surviving first cousins, whom nobody had either spoken to or about for almost ten years. Some said she lost her marbles. Others said it was normal for people her age to suddenly yearn for a secluded life. In fact, few were aware if she was even alive at all, but here she was, surveying the sparse surroundings of old Mrs. Wexler's modest apartment with a critical eye and her trademark scowl, a sign of an oncoming tempest. When Ora called, old Mrs. Wexler had agreed that Saturday would be a good time to visit her, completely forgetting the fact that it was the day she went out for prayers.

"Ora, I don't mean to be rude, but I just remembered I have to go out. Today's the Sabbath," said old Mrs. Wexler fearfully.

"What the Hell are you talking about? I called you on Thursday and asked if I can come over on Saturday, and you said 'yes', but now you're chasing me out? Is that how you treat a guest?" old cousin Ora demanded as she scanned the black voile dress that old Mrs. Wexler had chosen to wear to the synagogue. It was crisp with starch and though slightly outdated even for a woman her age, old Mrs. Wexler actually looked quite elegant in it, causing old cousin Ora's angry frown to furrow even deeper. Old Mrs. Wexler gripped the ends of her black lace veil even tighter now, not knowing how to explain herself. How could she forget about old cousin Ora's visit?

"Look, Ora, it's not what you think," she began, a bit too lamely. She then wondered if there was still enough time to make amends. "Would you like to join me at the temple? My grandson is coming to pick me up soon. We normally have a stroll in the park after prayers, and sometimes we even stop at a café in town for some tea," she added in a last-ditch effort to placate her cantankerous older cousin. It was the wrong thing to do, and it was too late to remedy the situation.

"Have you lost what's left of your scatterbrain?" seethed old cousin Ora. "You know bloody well that I never set foot in any temple after that holier-than-thou husband of mine took to the grave. Now you're expecting me to relive those oppressive years again? Have a heart, Miriam. Don't punish me like this, please," she grumbled with her gaze directed at old Mrs. Wexler's bare dining table, as if her mind was too busy finding the words for an even bigger, stormier tirade until she had to look at something else, but before she could even mouth her next sentence, the doorbell rang a second time. Old Mrs. Wexler stared disbelievingly at the door for a moment; this was the first time the doorbell rang more than once in a single day ever since she started living alone. It must be Noah this time, thought old Mrs. Wexler as she braced herself to reveal her second visitor, half-hoping that it was not some other uncanny relative who suddenly decided to reappear after years of deliberate isolation, cousin Ora-style. Luckily for her, she was right.

XXX

Puck gave his grandmother a worried look as she heaved a rather heavy sigh of relief. He hoped it was not some sort of palpitation, because he had zero knowledge when it came to CPR. Plus, the hospital was a considerable distance away, and he was afraid that something fatal might happen to her along the way, of which he was certainly unprepared for, particularly on a calm, uneventful day like today.

"Are you okay, nana?" asked Puck, worried.

"You are just on time," she replied, "though I wish you could've been earlier. You see, I have a visitor today," she added, lowering her voice into a cautious whisper. She was still numbed from her encounter with her cousin. Puck's concern for his grandmother increased. Why was she behaving so strangely today? Just then, old cousin Ora's irritable voice echoed from the dining room.

"What the Hell is going on there? Miriam? Is this how you treat a guest? How can you just leave me like this, sitting at your table, without even boiling a pot of tea or serving a plate of biscuits? At least come back here and pay me some attention. You invited me, remember? Miriam? MIRIAM!" old cousin Ora was close to shrieking.

"Nana, who's here today?" asked Puck, for, let it be said, he was slightly intimidated by the voice from the dining room.

"It's your great-aunt Ora. I just forgot that I had invited her over for tea today, and I forgot that today is a Saturday when she called two days ago. Now she's upset because I have to go out," explained old Mrs. Wexler. Puck shook his head, not knowing what to say to her, but his ears perked in shock upon hearing the name of the visitor. _Your great-aunt Ora_, he heard his grandmother utter the words clear as daylight. Could she be the same Ora Puckerman who left Nazi Germany as a girl with terrible secrets about the ancestor who had been haunting him in his sleep?

"Do you mean Ora Puckerman, nana?" he wondered aloud. Old Mrs. Wexler turned around to look at him, astonished. How did he know who old cousin Ora was? In those rarest of feats, old Mrs. Wexler summoned the best of her failing memory and, for the first time in years, recalled a series of incidents with profound clarity: Puck was only a child when Ora Puckerman suddenly shut herself away from the outside world, and since the woman's last appearance at a family gathering, old Mrs. Wexler made little or no mention of her tempestuous cousin, particularly to her children and even more so, her grandchildren. Indeed, Puck's addressing of old cousin Ora by her full name had old Mrs. Wexler taken aback for a good few minutes. Meanwhile, the aimless tirade in the dining room had reached a whole new level of fury.

"Miriam, what you're doing to me is abominable! Shame on you, woman! Is this what you teach your children? Now I know why they've all left you," she sneered eventually, like a cobra slowly lifting its fangs off its victim's wound after injecting a good dose of venom. It was cutting enough to hurt poor old Mrs. Wexler. Any mention of her children in such a manner was bound to bring her to tears. In spite of their blatant ingratitude, she still loved them, and deep down, she often prayed that they would come back to her again someday. Puck, for his part, bristled with rage upon hearing the nagging old woman's insult upon his grandmother, and stormed into the dining room, all set to give her a piece of his mind, not quite remembering who she was to him. His reaction was too sudden for a teary-eyed old Mrs. Wexler to register, and she was too late to stop him.

XXX

Throughout her life in America, no-one had dared to mess with Ora Puckerman. Growing up, she was never a popular girl in school; she entered every classroom with a murderous frown on her face, to the point that people avoided her not because she was unsociable, but because she was just plain frightful. As a young woman, she had several suitors smitten by her beauty, but most of them shied away after having had a taste of her mercurial temper, which she was quite unable to control. When she eventually got married, she made sure she maintained the upper hand in her fiasco of a marriage, completely disregarding the fact that her husband belonged to the patriarchal orthodox sect of her religion. They had no children, not entirely because her husband feared her, but rather because _she _did not want to raise her children with an iron fist while trying to keep her head above water in her loveless marriage. Twenty years ago, following the death of her could-have-been-oppressive husband, the gossipmongers of the family wove intricate tales of how she emasculated the man on her wedding night itself and how he must have died of shame, but they never had the guts to even ask after her condition in person. All these were enough to transform Ora Puckerman into a deeply embittered old woman, but not sufficient enough to drive her to self-imposed isolation; no, she was not that weak. She had better reasons of her own to disappear and avoid the predatory eyes of her nosy relatives.

However, nothing prepared her for what was to happen next. When she was finally revived by a long-awaited cup of tea, strong, black and sweet just the way she liked it, she thought she had been visited upon by an apparition of someone long dead, yet still very dear to her. She surveyed her surroundings. She found herself sitting on old Mrs. Wexler's bed, with two fat pillows propped behind her against the wall. Old Mrs. Wexler rushed to her immediately as soon as she tried to open her mouth to speak.

"Do you need some more tea, Ora?" she asked kindly. Old cousin Ora shook her head meekly. "You scared us all today," added old Mrs. Wexler. In response, old cousin Ora merely stared into blank space. Just then, Puck re-entered the bedroom, his face bearing the same look of alarm as his grandmother's.

"Shall I call the paramedics, nana?" he asked. He did not realise that old Ora Puckerman was staring very intently at him, as if he was someone she had known for a long time and had met after years of separation.

"Well, I…!" before old Mrs. Wexler could answer Puck, old cousin Ora lifted up her hand and shook her head to signal to her that she was all right, and that the paramedics were unnecessary. At this point, Puck had turned his attention to old cousin Ora. He noticed that she did not look as hostile as she sounded not too long ago. Then, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Tell me, boy, what's your name?" she asked him softly.

"This is my grandson. His name's Noah," said old Mrs. Wexler as she guided Puck closer to the older woman. She showed him to a chair on the bedside, and Puck sat down obediently.

"Miriam, I'd like to have a word with the boy, in private," said old cousin Ora, her voice somewhat dangerously low as she uttered each word slowly and clearly. Old Mrs. Wexler understood the gravity of her tone and left the room, shutting the door lightly.

XXX

Puck had never entered old Mrs. Wexler's bedroom before. From the very first time he set foot in the apartment, he knew full well that it was an unspoken rule that her bedroom was out of bounds for everyone, except in dire situations. As he surveyed the floral print on the curtains, he could not help but squirm uncomfortably at the stuffiness of the room. Old cousin Ora's presence in the room was not helping either. He longed to leave the room, but knowing that the old woman wanted to speak to him, he had no choice but to remain in his seat.

Old cousin Ora eyed Puck critically, and Puck himself was starting to cower under her gaze. There was something about the woman that demanded his ultimate respect, and he chose not to confront her about the way she insulted his grandmother not too long ago. If truth be told, he was afraid of her.

"So, you are Noah," she finally said. Puck merely nodded. "I'm sorry at the way I treated your nana just now. I can tell that it made you upset," she continued.

"My nana's had a hard life," replied Puck. "Nobody really cares for her now. I wish I could, but I have school, friends and sports," he added.

"That's alright, Noah," said old Ora Puckerman in a friendlier tone. "We old women have a way of looking after ourselves, even though it's against our will. You're a responsible young man, I can tell."

"Thanks, uh…" Puck paused, not knowing how to address the old woman seated on his grandmother's bed.

"I'm your great-aunt," she clarified.

"Right," he replied.

"How well do you know me, Noah?" she suddenly asked.

"Not much. I never heard about you until quite recently," replied Puck.

"Your nana is one of those few people in the family I can trust. She doesn't gossip like the others," said old cousin Ora, her voice tinged with anger. Puck did not know what to say. He was afraid that he might end up incurring the old woman's wrath a second time.

"Are you feeling better now? I mean, you kind of passed out when you saw me, and all that," he eventually said. Old Ora Puckerman brushed his concern away impatiently.

"Yes, that was unfortunate. You see, you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone very close to me," replied old cousin Ora.

"Do you mean Nehemiah Wexler?" Puck asked bluntly, causing the old woman's eyes to widen in astonishment.

"How did you know?" she whispered, the shock still clear in her voice.

"It's been kind of weird these past few weeks. I've been having strange dreams about some other guy who knows him. My ma tried to hide the truth from me, but she gradually came around and told me everything," replied Puck.

"Do you still dream about him?" asked old cousin Ora, tears welling in her eyes.

"Yeah," said Puck. "It's like he's asking me to do something for him, like a favour," he added.

"What kind of favour, exactly?" was old cousin Ora's next question.

"I don't know, really, but I think it's got something to do with my friend. You know, he's related to someone that knows Nehemiah, some Karl Hummel," explained Puck.

"Karl is alive?" old cousin Ora mouthed the words disbelievingly.

"Yeah, I think I saw him once in Findlay, at some retirement home," said Puck. Old cousin Ora's hand flew to her mouth, and she started sobbing quietly. "Are you okay?" asked Puck when she had pacified herself.

"Can you keep a secret, Noah?" she asked.

"Uh, I guess. Sure," he replied.

"A few months after my husband's funeral, a message came to me from a bank in New York. I was told that I was expecting a delivery, from Europe. So I flew to New York, convincing everyone that I needed a change in scenery. I was confused, uncertain, scared even. I didn't know anyone from Europe, but the moment I entered the vault, something familiar resonated at the back of my head. The delivery was made by the Jewish Association of Dresden, my birthplace. Before my eyes were a box and a letter addressed to me. After reading the letter, I knew that something had to be done. The box held an urn containing Nehemiah's ashes. Apparently some of his comrades smuggled his body from the streets after the Nazis executed him, and they cremated him in secret. The letter stated that Nehemiah once mentioned me as his only surviving relative, and that only I would know what to do with his remains, should he not survive the War. So I came up with a plan. People mustn't know about my most current possession. That was why I disappeared. Nehemiah may be a hero in the eyes of our people back home, but here, nobody talks about him, Noah. Our family here has disowned him," said old cousin Ora, who gradually descended into a fresh bout of tears when she finished. She was missing Nehemiah terribly.

There was a prolonged silence in the room. Puck, for his part, was speechless. Why was old cousin Ora telling him all this? If, as Nehemiah had stated, she knew what to do with his remains, then why did she choose to keep them with her all these years instead of doing something with them, like, interring them in the cemetery where most of the deceased family members were buried? However, something at the back of his mind was prodding him to speak up. "Is there anything I can do?" he eventually asked. Old cousin Ora looked up at him, a ray of hope flickering on her face.

"You said Karl is alive, didn't you?" she asked him. Puck nodded. "I remember them being such close friends, almost like brothers. One Sunday evening, as we sat by the lake, Nehemiah and Karl made a pledge to be buried side by side, at all costs. I was a little girl back then. Nobody thought that I would care to listen to grownups' talk, but I did. I guess they knew I was overhearing them," she continued, a hint of fondness in her voice.

Puck had already found his answer, but still, he needed to hear from old cousin Ora about what was to be done. It was, after all, a rather delicate situation. "So, what must we do?" he asked.

"You must give Nehemiah's ashes to Karl. Only then can they be reunited in death, for in life, they have been so cruelly separated," concluded old cousin Ora.

"Would you like to visit him someday?" suggested Puck.

"That'd be wonderful," replied old cousin Ora. "He's the only memory I have left of Nehemiah," she added.

XXX

It had been agreed. Old cousin Ora was to meet him again the following week. Together they would travel to Findlay and search for Karl Hummel, regardless of what Kurt's father has to say against it. Maybe Kurt can help. Puck was hoping that reuniting his dead ancestor with his long-lost love would finally release him from those sporadic nightmares, and at the same time, he wished the same for Kurt, too.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**Again, dearest readers, a thousand apologies for the prolonged delay of this chapter; I am already in my senior year at university, and this means that I have even lesser time to work on this story. However, I promise NEVER to let you down. Chapter 12 is still under construction, and I do not know when it will be completed, but rest assured, it WILL be published. I do hope that you are all still following this wonderful story, and if you are, please do not hesitate to send in your views, opinions and comments, for it is your encouragement and support, darling readers, that help me achieve greater heights.**


	12. Chapter 12

**MADE FOR EACH OTHER**

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN **_**GLEE**_**. IT SOLELY BELONGS TO RYAN MURPHY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WAS EVER INTENDED IN THE PROCESS OF WRITING THIS FANFIC.**

**ONCE AGAIN, A THOUSAND APOLOGIES FOR THE EXTENDED DELAY OF THIS CHAPTER; I AM CURRENTLY ****VERY BUSY ****WITH MY FINAL SEMESTER AT UNIVERSITY. **

**ON THE OTHER HAND, THANKS A MILLION TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER ELEVEN; YOUR SUPPORT AND OPINIONS MEAN THE WORLD TO ME. HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL! HERE IS A NEW CHAPTER FOR YOU.**

**Chapter Twelve: Ambassador Puck**

**Burt finally consents to Kurt visiting Karl. Puck reveals the truth about Great Aunt Ora. Special appearance: Karl Hummel.**

There was a heavy downpour in the previous night, causing the Blanchard River to swell and flood its banks, bringing along with it small jolts of destruction – the collapse of a water rat's nest, the drowning of an abandoned kitten, among other things. However, when dawn broke, the riverbank became a Mecca of bounty as the rains ceased into a mild drizzle and the waters of the river receded.

As soon as the first few rays of the Sun began to shed light on the otherwise dark world, wading birds flocked in the hundreds to probe for breakfast with their beaks. Their earliness did not go in vain. They found (much to their glee) hordes of worms, snails and other wrigglers struggling hopelessly in the mud. Some had baby water rats that nearly lost their lives a few hours ago. There was also a lifeless, soggy kitten for the scavenging types. All had their fill, and all were satisfied, though some not wholly so. It was funny how a body of water, without a life of its own like that of a living thing, could do two things at once: Destroy and Give, as if it was impersonating and to an extent, challenging the authority of its Creator.

Sadly, nobody was present to observe this strange but magnificent satire. The birds continued to feed, the drizzling continued to slow down, and the rainwater-bulked river continued to recede, like actors staging a play earnestly even though there was no audience, human to be specific.

Meanwhile, a bustle of activity was hailing the beginning of yet another day for the inmates of St. Joseph's Retirement Home. Breakfast was being prepared in the kitchen (today's special: oatmeal with raisins; for diabetics, no raisins, but almonds, but still all are entitled to have their oatmeal softened with milk, or water for the lactose-intolerant, thank you very much), while nurses marched into the wards, some with clipboards clasped against their chests, others with an assortment of toiletries to give the bedridden patients their morning bath.

Karl Hummel was in a foul mood today. Earlier that day, though it was still technically right to be counted as night since there was no Sun yet, he had been awakened by a loud thunderbolt that ruined his sleep. He had tried an old remedy of sheep-counting, to no avail. Fuming, he had groped about for his reading glasses after switching on the bedside lamp, only to end up knocking down his thermos flask, spilling water all over the floor. By then, he had gotten really incensed and had started to grumble senselessly, albeit sensibly for a man his age. Grumbling was necessary for him. It was what he needed unknowingly to calm his nerves. When he finally had his glasses on, he flipped through the pages of his diary, until he reached a blank page. He had meant to write _I thought the music of the rain pattering on the roof would grant me a fitful rest tonight, but alas, thunder struck and disrupted my peaceful slumber_, but somehow he found himself penning the same lines that occupied almost every single entry since the day his psychiatrist (he could not remember which one) recommended him to start a diary to alleviate his depression. It did not work, mainly because Karl wrote his entries as if he was writing letters instead of personal accounts, but the habit stayed on. _I miss you so much as always. I still dream about you, and I wake up in tears whenever I dreamt happy dreams of you_. As usual, he wrote his entry in the elegant, cursive script he reserved for those particular lines. When he finally wrote what he had meant to write, he concluded with _I wish you were here to sing me to sleep and wrap me in your warm embrace_. Before turning off the bedside lamp, he looked to his left, at the bookcase that housed all his diaries, right from his very first. He held his most current one gingerly before replacing it on the table, as if saying _if I survive this year, you'll be joining the rest as you get replaced with a new one_. It was as though he was playing God, promising the faithful a place in Heaven. He turned off the bedside lamp.

Through the glass window, he could see that the black of night had lightened considerably to a smoky greyish dark blue. Morning had broken. He was annoyed that he had lost so much sleep. However, his room was still shrouded in darkness. Then, in spite of his poor hearing, he heard a faint sound that slowly became tinkling noises. Staring into the darkness, he began to hear the sound more clearly now. Someone was playing the piano, only there was no piano in his ward, nor were there any in the whole of St. Joseph's Retirement Home (though there was an organ in the chapel, but organs make their own music). It was "Waves of the Danube", his favourite waltz. Nobody knew it was his favourite, except for one person, and he was already dead. So, how could Nehemiah be playing the piano, when

He was already dead, and

There was no piano?

Karl, however, was not perturbed by the absences of either two. Both Nehemiah and the piano were before him now, and that was all that mattered. He took a step closer, and much to his amazement, the ward was bathed in light, except that it was not the blinding white from a fluorescent lamp, but the familiar golden glow of the gaslight chandelier that hung from the drawing room ceiling of his ancestral home in Bavaria. Karl smiled. It was good to be home.

They were alone in the drawing room. Nehemiah turned around to look at him, his hands still gliding across the keys, and he smiled back. Although an accomplished pianist himself, Karl was always ready to acknowledge Nehemiah as the better musician. Not only was his rendition of Ivanovici's waltz impeccably flawless; his fingers seemed to hover above the keys, like ducks touching the water as they flew lower across the lake. It was as though he was not playing the piano; rather, it looked like he was commanding the instrument to produce such delicately exquisite music with comparative ease. There was a gentle sort of sureness about Nehemiah's hovering fingers that Karl loved so much. He marvelled at the sight as Nehemiah played on.

Suddenly, he stood up. Turning to face Karl, he bowed down. The music was still playing, only now the piano was accompanied by a full orchestra. Karl knew what to do. He curtsied without flaring an imaginary skirt, without having to look like a boy trying to be a girl; he was just being himself. Then, they danced. It was the Landler, a dance that Karl knew since childhood. He had spent days teaching Nehemiah its unique hops and stamps, and even now, Nehemiah, who was not from the Bavarian south, was still a bit rough on the edges. He stifled a giggle, but Nehemiah continued dancing with Karl in his arms, indifferent towards his missteps. When they were facing each other, Karl blushed, and Nehemiah smiled.

"We should be playing Schubert instead of Ivanovici for the Landler," Karl heard himself stutter as he felt the heat spreading throughout his face, but Nehemiah's smile widened into a grin, and Karl felt himself melting.

"Let's waltz, then," he eventually said, and Karl complied wholeheartedly. He flinched in delight as Nehemiah's hand clutched at his back, longing for the sensation to last a lifetime. As Karl prepared to spin, he felt Nehemiah's grasp fading. It was a lot different from loosening; when one's grasp loosens, at least there is an assurance that the person still there, but the fading of a grasp is an altogether different story. He spun nonetheless, and he lost control.

Karl collided against his bedside table, and the drawing room shrunk back into the familiar void of his ward, and he was covered in darkness again. There was no more music, and Nehemiah was nowhere to be seen, too. Karl took a long time to regain his footing, not because the floor was slippery from the water that spilled off his flask earlier, but because he was waiting for Nehemiah to help him up. His face crumpled in sad despair, threatening to cry, but he soon realised the futility of it all. Nehemiah was never coming back, not even to help him recover from this wretched, demented existence that he was shackled onto. No amount of tears would resurrect him. Slowly, his countenance was reset into the stony bitterness that everyone recognised. He rose nimbly and sat on his bed.

The darkness was eventually giving way to brightness. He looked at the alarm clock next to his reading glasses. It was already seven. He knew that it was time to face another new day, because the others had already woken up. Even though he could not hear the stretching of limbs, the scratching of balls and the muffled yawns, he knew they were already awake. That was what loneliness could do to you. It made you observant towards the routines of others in ways unimaginable. Soon, a nurse would enter the ward with his breakfast and supplements, and upon noticing the spilt water on the floor, summon a warden to clean up the mess, as always.

He had no idea next week's routine (his own) would experience a complete change.

XXX

Miles away, another home, like any other, was also bustling with the rituals performed to herald the break of day. Burt Hummel was seated at the dining table with his son Kurt, wife Carole and stepson Finn. Earlier on, Kurt and Carole were busy in the kitchen, experimenting with an old recipe for Kaiserschmarrn served with a modern twist of sweet chunky applesauce and caramelised bananas, which turned out predictably well, since both Kurt and Carole were excellent cooks in their own right. Burt eyed the scrumptious meal placed before him intently, his gaze confoundedly moved. Carole and Kurt looked at each other, each wondering what the reason behind Burt's strange reaction was. They secretly hoped it was not the Kaiserschmarrn to blame, because it was their casual impromptu labour of love on an ordinary Sunday.

"Are you okay, dad?" Kurt asked calmly, although deep down, he was really worried. Burt may have recovered tremendously from his heart attack, but it did not mean that his risks of suffering another one were unlikely.

"You made Kaiserschmarrn," he finally said, looking up to Kurt and Carole. Kurt, for his part, was relieved that Burt actually said something, and he proceeded to serve Finn while Carole served Burt.

"You actually know what it's called?" asked Carole, as though she was hosting _Wheel of Fortune _and taken by surprise at the ingenuity of the contestant who figured out the mystery word.

"It's Karl's favourite," he replied absentmindedly in a tone that sounded like he just slipped his tongue, and Kurt shifted his attention back to Burt, not because of Burt's tone, but because of him mentioning Karl's name.

"Perhaps we can make him a batch one of these days," he suggested, and Carole added her bit.

"The recipe says it's traditionally served with plum compote, and there's also another recipe with raisins, apples, cherries, almonds and hazelnuts," she piped, reading straight from the recipe book. They were all one happy family, discussing recipes for a deranged relative's favourite sweet treat.

"Which one does he like best, dad?" asked Kurt. He had to repeat the question, because Burt, like Finn, was busy gorging down his breakfast. They were like that, football players (one still playing, one stopped playing) satisfying their lusty appetites.

"Don't know, buddy," he eventually replied. It was obvious he wanted to discuss Karl with Kurt as little as possible, but added "keep it simple, too much of stuff in it is bad for his stomach. He's very old," to conceal his reluctance. The atmosphere, however, remained bright and cheery, thanks to the wonder called Kaiserschmarrn, German for "Kaiser's crap". Funny how such a delectable culinary delight can be christened with a rather unpalatable name. Nobody noticed the ex-football player's discomfort.

"Do you miss him, dad?" asked Kurt. It took Burt a while to sort out the question in his head. The Kaiserschmarrn was too delicious in all its crumbly flaky sugary glory. He guzzled a swig of coffee to wash down its overwhelming sweetness. It was a clear-cut question: _do you miss him_? Bitter black coffee mixed with golden crumbly flaky sugary Kaiserschmarrn, with sweet applesauce and even sweeter bananas thrown in for good measure. Did he miss him? Maybe yes, maybe not...

"It's been a while since I last saw him," he remarked, "naturally I do miss him," he admitted. He did not like the idea of Kurt bombarding Karl with questions on his next visit to the retirement home. Like an anthropomorphic chipmunk (Alvin Simon Theodore Chip Dale) yakking away in an annoying shrill voice, he thought and nearly burst out laughing at his own joke. He poured some more coffee. It was time to be serious. _Kurt deserves to know the entire truth, after all that I've hidden from him_. He drank all his coffee. He had come to a decision. "We'll visit him, all of us. As a family," he declared, holding Kurt's hand. "Next Sunday," he confirmed," and added (while looking at Kurt with an assuring smile), "no more secrets", seeing in his son's eyes a mixed glitter of joy and relief, one that he had not seen in a long time.

XXX

It was ten when breakfast was over, or more importantly, when Burt and Finn had eaten the last of the Kaiserschmarrn. Kurt and Carole proceeded to clear the dining table while Burt had another cup of coffee as he scrutinised his business ledgers and Finn sat down to finish an essay on the life and times of Ulysses S. Grant for History class. Kurt had offered to proofread it for him once he had completed it, but he still had a long way to go. Kurt paused for a moment and marvelled at the sight of his whole family together in the kitchen. He felt extremely happy to find Carole and himself chatting happily as they did the dishes together as well as Finn and Burt sharing their opinions on a Civil War hero. He loved seeing his family close-knitted together like this, the way happy, contented and complete families should be.

"The Kaiserschmarrn was a success, wasn't it?" whispered Carole as she handed Kurt a handful of cutleries to dry.

"I couldn't agree more," replied Kurt, "there was such an Alpine feel to it," he added.

"I have a brilliant idea," piped Carole as she turned off the tap. "Let's watch _The Sound of Music_, together, all four of us," she extended the conversation to Burt and Finn when she said "together" and "all four of us" to gain their attention. Burt and Finn looked up, surprised.

"What for?" asked Finn.

"_The Sound of Music_, brother dear," chided Kurt as though he had already told Finn about watching _The Sound of Music_ and had to repeat himself.

"You mean the one with Julia Roberts singing to seven kids?" asked Finn again, and Kurt rolled his eyes in mock disbelief.

"Yes, that's the one, Finn. And she's Julie Andrews, not Julia Roberts," corrected Kurt. Turning to Carole, he added, "Rachel must've forced him to watch _Mirror, Mirror _with her," and they both laughed.

"So, are we watching it or not?" asked Kurt for the umpteenth time.

"We have work to do," chorused the two.

"Then we'll watch it in the afternoon," conceded Carole. The vote was unanimous. They will all watch _The Sound of Music _at two.

XXX

The Hummel family was busy at the dining table (Burt with his ledgers, Finn with his essay, Kurt with proofreading Finn's essay, and Carole with knitting a sweater for Karl when they visit him) when they heard a knock on their door. Kurt, being the least busy of them all, rushed to answer it. It was Puck.

"Noah," he nearly exclaimed, "it's been quite some time. How are you?"

"I'm good," replied Puck with a friendly smile, "I have something to tell you," he added.

"Come on in," ushered Kurt. He allowed Puck to enter first, hoping to steal a few glances of the boy without being noticed. He loved the little things that made Puck look so beautiful in his eyes, like the finely curved shell shape of his ears, the light blots of sweat on his T-shirt and his somewhat graceful gait. He froze when Puck turned around, quite unable to shift his gaze elsewhere.

"Can we talk about it here?" asked Puck, gesturing to the living room.

"At least say hello to my dad, Carole and Finn first," said Kurt, this time walking ahead of Puck. He dared not risk getting caught checking out a straight guy red-handed.

Puck entered the kitchen and was greeted warmly by all, like an ambassador visiting a foreign country to establish diplomatic relations. Carole made iced tea for everyone and served Puck ginger nuts before resuming her knitting. "We're going to watch _The Sound of Music _later, Noah. Please join us," she offered sweetly. Finn gave him an imploring look. He just wanted to have someone who might think the same way as he does about the musical. Puck, for his part, had seen the film a few times on television with his mother and sister. He had mixed feelings about it.

"Sure," he finally said, and all the local chieftains cheered at the foreign ambassador as he verbally signed an unwritten treaty. Puck loved coming to Kurt's not entirely because of Finn, but because he was always welcome to bask in the comforting glow exuded by a complete, perfect family. He was like an ambassador from an alien land of broken families visiting a land of families perfected through unification. By the time Finn had finished writing his essay and Burt had completed calculating the accounts in his ledgers, it was about time for lunch. Chieftains Carole and Kurt unearthed the old recipe book again for more Alpine recipes. There was an ambassador in their midst, and therefore lunch had to be special.

XXX

Lunch was, in terms of grandeur, a replica of breakfast. Chieftains Carole and Kurt collaborated once again to make Tafelspitz with horseradish in cream and sauerkraut noodles for lunch as well as Salzburger Nockerl for dessert. In the meantime, Burt, Finn and Puck went into the living room to watch a live high school basketball game. Both Chieftains Carole and Kurt mocked fellow Chieftains Burt and Finn as well as Ambassador Noah alias Puck affectionately upon hearing their elated cheers each time their favourite team made a slam dunk. However, in the middle of the game, Ambassador Noah alias Puck entered the kitchen, donned a ridiculous-looking apron and assisted the two Chieftains-of-the-Kitchens in preparing lunch. He realised helping out in the kitchen made him even happier, and it delighted the two Chieftains as well, the younger boy Chieftain in particular.

Burt and Finn were still raving about the game over lunch, complimenting on the hearty meal only when the food tantalised their taste buds. Burt in particular commented that he was feeling rather special today, not quite fully suspecting that his consent for Kurt to visit Karl next weekend was responsible for the magnificent meals before him today, neither was he quite able to connect it with the accidental making of Kaiserschmarrn for breakfast earlier that morning. He sliced his way through his fillet of sirloin steak without much thought, his mind largely occupied by the succulence of the meat. When the time came for the Salzburger Nockerl to be served, it was much to the glee of Kurt and Carole, praised with sugar-induced passion.

When the clock finally struck two, lunch was over, the dining table had been cleared and the dishes were washed, dried and kept. Everyone gathered in the living room to watch _The Sound of Music_. Kurt was first; he had to rummage for his DVD copy of the musical in the drawer under the television set, while Carole was last; she had been busy brewing Melange for everyone. It was a rare moment to treasure; nowadays, very seldom do families gather together to watch a movie just like the old days. Kurt could feel his heart bursting with joy when Julie Andrews appeared, first as a little speck in a two-toned sea: grey on top, green below, then slowly enlarging until she was visible enough, just in time for her to sing:

_The hills are alive with the sound of music,_

_With songs they have sung for a thousand years…_

Burt and Carole were both smiling at the screen as Julie Andrews continued singing, thinking of the first time they had seen the musical as children. Finn had to be nudged by an annoyed Kurt when he nearly fell asleep while listening to the nuns of Nonnberg Abbey singing their Morning Hymn.

As for Puck, the first things that came to his mind when the first few familiar notes wafted from the speakers were the things that his mother had told him about the true story that inspired this musical. It was only natural that _The Sound of Music _played an important role in the entertainment and leisure of the Puckerman family. It was, after all, set in Austria, which was a close-enough reminder of home, at least for the older generation. Second, the story took place before and during the Anschluss, a historic moment for Ashkenazi Jews like themselves, though not as painfully memorable as the entire Holocaust, Puck remembered his mother saying. Back then, he had no idea what the Anschluss was or when it happened. When his mother said _The Sound of Music _was based on a true story that happened a long time ago, all he could think of was whether breakfast cereals had already been invented or not when the Von Trapp family fled to Switzerland. As a schoolchild whose mind was fed with the history of breakfast cereals printed on the cardboard boxes of Kellogg's Cornflakes while his mouth chomped away at their contents, he used to perceive "a long time ago" as an era that came and went before the year 1904, when the first cornflakes were discovered by accident. It was only when his mother linked it with WWII that he realised the true story of the Von Trapp family did not happen that long ago. Breakfast cereals had already been discovered, the Titanic and the Lusitania had both gone down to their icy graves, the ballpoint pen was invented and talkies had already dominated Hollywood by the time Captain Von Trapp was forced to pack up his family and leave because he loved his Austrian homeland too much to fight for the Nazis.

When a visiting uncle was entertained by a rerun of the film on cable television a few years back, when Puck was still too young to realise that movies were a chain of events all linked to each other, he learned from his visiting uncle, a literature enthusiast, that children often remembered their favourite films through the things that appealed to them the most. For Puck, it was the songs and of course, Captain Von Trapp. By then, Benjamin Puckerman, frustrated by the inevitable birth of baby Sarah, had already walked out, leaving the family financially, socially and emotionally vulnerable. For him, Captain Von Trapp came in two versions:

Captain Von Trapp before he heard his children sing, and

Captain Von Trapp after he heard his children sing.

He hated (1) for fatherlessness-induced reasons of his own. Captain Von Trapp's face was almost permanently fixed into an angry scowl, and Puck felt like punching him in the face, pulling out his molars one by one with a set of pliers or burning his haughty lips with red hot irons, longing to hear some anguished screams from the hard-hearted man. While he despised (1), he loved (2) to the point of hopeless fawning, especially when Captain Von Trapp began to smile sincerely upon recognising the words of the song his children were singing for the Baroness, when he began to sing (accompanied by seven angelic voices):

_I go to the hills when my heart is lonely,_

_I know I will hear what I've heard before,_

_My heart would be blessed with the sound of music,_

_And I'll sing…once…more…_

He remembered how his heart nearly broke when he saw Brigitta the middle child rush into the Captain's arms, her face flushed with relief and joy, while the others followed suit, all hungry for their father's love, like puppies rushing to their mother after an extended period of forced weaning, if such a thing ever existed. At that moment, Puck saw what he had been missing all his life: a loving father, as simple as that. Right now, as he watched the film with another family, he struggled to fight back the tears that threatened to well in his eyes when the scene flashed before him once more. However, he could not resist the smile that carved itself on his face. It was his favourite part of the film. Little did he realise that as he was marvelling this heart-warming scene, he was being keenly observed by one of his hosts.

Throughout the movie, Kurt was tempted to sing along with the cast. He knew all the lyrics by heart since he was ten, when he was old enough to distinguish one word from the other. So it was only natural that Burt, Carole and Puck would, for a brief moment, shift their attention to him as he sang the lyrics, which none of them were able to fathom back in their younger years.

_How do you solve a problem like Maria?_

_ How do you catch a cloud and pin it down?_

_ How do you find a word that means Maria?_

_ A flibbertijibbet; a will o' the wisp; a clown…_

_ Many a thing you know you'd like to tell her,_

_ Many a thing she ought to understand,_

_ But how do you make her stay?_

_ And listen to all you say?_

_ How do you keep a wave upon the sand?_

_ O how do you solve a problem like Maria?_

_ How do you hold a moonbeam in your hand?_

When it came to _My Favourite Things _and _Do-Re-Mi_, even Finn was compelled to sing along with everybody. Everyone had a good time.

Puck had attempted to look at the reactions of the others towards his favourite scene. Finn was smiling to himself (he must have found it beautiful too); Burt and Carole were exchanging affectionate looks at each other, while Kurt was looking at him. When their gazes met, Puck thought he saw admiration well up in Kurt's eyes, and he was slightly offended. It was as if Kurt never knew that he had emotions just like everyone else, and it took a wholesome family movie like _The Sound of Music_ to make him realise that. However, an unseen force prodded him to look deeper into Kurt's eyes, and he saw a luminous beauty in them, as striking as the unblemished porcelain of his skin and the prominence of his high cheekbones. Kurt felt as if Puck's steady gaze would smoulder him any minute now, but Maria and the children were already about to yodel _High on a Hill was a Lonely Goatherd_, and Kurt turned his gaze away. Puck noticed that beads of sweat had formed on the boy's upper lips, and they were quivering, as though Kurt himself was shivering. Yet it was not cold; everyone was basking in the pure, untainted and innocent filial love exuded by Maria soon-to-be Von Trapp and her soon-to-be brood of cheerful seven.

The movie lasted three hours. Everyone was haunted by the same question that popped in their heads when they first saw it as children. What happens next? Puck remembered his mother saying that the nuns were in deep trouble for aiding the Von Trapp family's escape, and since then, his mind unwillingly conjured images of the Reverend Mother, Sister Berthe, Sister Margaretta, Sister Sophia and all the other nuns from the Morning Hymn being tortured by furious Nazis. Kurt had his own conclusion. He pictured them settling down in Switzerland, living normal lives among normal people, happily ever after, although he knew full well that the Von Trapp family never settled in Switzerland but fled to America via Italy instead, and the actual Captain Von Trapp died pretty soon after the end of WWII. He also knew that after the real Captain's death, the family was never the same again. He remembered how disillusioned he felt when he learned that the movie was a heavily fictionalised account of what truly happened. He did not realise back then that fiction had to be interspersed with reality in heavy doses for entertainment's sake, or else you will end up getting a faithful adaptation of Maria Von Trapp's autobiography as grim and stoic as say, _Schindler's List_. It did, after all, take place in the years that led to WWII, so substantial dramatic license had to be taken.

It was ten past five when Finn and Burt went out to play a light version of football (a bit of exercise was necessary for Burt, as recommended by the doctor), while Carole went back to her knitting. Kurt and Puck remained in the living room, entertained by the awkward silence that loomed about. Kurt, however, suddenly remembered that Puck had come to tell him something, so it was only right that he be the one to break the silence.

"So, you said you came here because you had something to tell me," he began, taking a long pause between "so" and the words that came after it, "I'm sorry you got delayed by the rush of family activities."

"Please, don't apologise," replied Puck, "I really had a great time."

"That's good," said Kurt, "so, you were supposed to tell me…" he stopped to let Puck speak.

"It's about my great aunt Ora. She survived the Holocaust and all, and she was a friend of Karl's. One day, she just disappeared, and last week, she showed up all of a sudden at my nana's place. She told me she has Nehemiah's ashes with her, and she really wants to visit Karl," all the words tumbled out of Puck's mouth as if they had been stuffed in his mouth for ages and had to be spat out, like grape seeds. Just as he expected, Kurt's look of surprise grew more and more pronounced each time he added a new nugget of information.

"This is unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, for he was quite astonished to hear about a surviving person who knew Karl and Nehemiah personally, "let's go together, next week," he blurted.

"I'll have to make arrangements with Great Aunt Ora, then. She's kind of fussy," said Puck.

"We'll all be going next week, dad, Carole, me and Finn too, if he wants to, that is. Let's meet at the St. Joseph's Retirement Home parking lot," he offered, and Ambassador Noah verbally signed a second unwritten treaty. Then, it was time for him to leave. It was getting dark.

"You should be packing up to go back now. It's getting late," said Puck.

"Yeah, I know," said Kurt, "thanks for telling me about your great aunt, Noah. Karl will be so happy to see her, especially after all these years," he added, as though he knew Karl really well.

"I hope so," agreed Puck.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

…**or should I not? I hope none of you were bored by such a LONG chapter, though I have written longer ones previously. Karl's struggle with dementia was inspired by a scene from **_**The Iron Lady**_**, a recent biopic of former British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher (played by Meryl Streep), who is also known to suffer from the ailment. So, in a way, that particular part of this chapter is dedicated to her. The scene of the Hummel family and Puck watching **_**The Sound of Music **_**together was further inspired by a similar scene from one of my favourite novels, **_**The God of Small Things**_** by Arundhati Roy. I sincerely hope that none of these are counted as plagiarism, though. Nevertheless, I am EXCITED to hear from you all the same, my darling readers. It has been a while since I have read your comments, reviews and priceless words of encouragement. Plans for chapter thirteen have already been made, but I cannot tell when I can complete it, as I am still in my final semester at university, which means I have very little time to work on this story. As usual, please do not hesitate to send in your opinions and comments, for I really need your support, my beloved readers, to keep this story going and subsequently contribute to my rising from strength to strength.**


End file.
